Weaves of Destiny
by Divebomber
Summary: When a new tyrant arises, fate brings together a ragtag bunch of comrades to take him down. This is a story that repeated itself many times in Mossflower and beyond. But sometimes you end up fighting side by side with comrades that you expected the least, and sometimes your destiny isn't as simple as it first seems...
1. Prologue

**1. The Warrior and the Warlord.**

It was a bright, cool evening in early autumn. Ewalt always loved clear autumn days like this one… but this time he'd have preferred rainstorm and hurricane to this pleasant weather. Those might have washed away his trail.

Not that Ewalt left much of a trail to begin with. Very tall, for a mouse, but thin and wiry, he stepped lightly, an expert at passing through forest without leaving any visible trace. Or so he thought. Either he wasn't so good, after all, or Kunas' vermin brought with them one of the rare beasts, capable of following tracks by scent alone. They found Ewalt's forest hideout somehow, and pursued him since morning, after he barely avoided their ambush.

The mouse stopped for moment, reclining against a three, to catch his breath and weight his chances. He believed there was at least a dozen of pursuers. He could already faintly hear sounds they made, scrambling though the forest undergrowth, hot on his heels. Far too many to handle, even with surprise. A fight would be gambling his life – if the vermin won't falter and run after the first couple of them falls, he will almost certainly die. But Ewalt was near the limit of his endurance. Trying to outpace the vermin was as much as a gamble, and if he were to fail, he would be taken without even being able to put a fight. The decision was not difficult to make.

The pursuers soon were at the place where Ewalt took his brief rest. Eleven verminbeasts, mostly foxes and rats, all well-armed and battle-scarred raiders. Two small, savage-looking stoats lead the way, crouching and sniffing the ground, even dropping on all four from time to time. Ewalt could congratulate himself on being enough of a thorn in King Kunas's rear, to go to the lengths, needed to find and recruit real trail-sniffers. And on the fact, that he took care to hide upwind from his own tracks, when he doubled back.

Ewalt spent the last dozen of seasons stalking and killing vermin, so it was no wonder that he was good at it. This bunch were veteran warriors, much more keen-eyed and sharp-eared than average, but they still didn't spot him, didn't notice him slipping like a shadow from behind a tree root, and didn't hear his steps, until an archer fox, that trudged behind the rest, suddenly gurgled and fell, stabbed in the back. Before the vermin realized what was going on, Ewalt threw his small spear, which hit the biggest and toughest-looking fox in the group right in the neck, striking him down like a thunderbolt.

But the surviving nine vermin did not panic, contrary to Ewalt's hopes, and their confusion lasted only a couple of seconds – as could be expected from battle-tested fighters. The rat, at whom Ewalt aimed next, jumped to the side, and the mouse's short sword only gashed her shoulder. Another rat rushed Ewalt, swinging his spear low, like a quarterstaff. Ewalt jumped over it and slashed in return, but too shallow, ripping through the enemy's long nose, instead of his throat. The rat still stumbled back. Ewalt used this moment to grab a knife from his belt and throw it right into the open maw of another fox, who roared a battlecry, charging him with a mace. Instincts warned the mouse that the rat he wounded first is behind him. He slashed blindly behind, wheeling on his footpaws. His blade found flesh... but before he could fully turn, something that Ewalt didn't even see slammed into his head, knocking him down. The mouse nearly lost consciousness then and there. In the next minute he almost regretted that that he didn't. Instead of stabbing Ewalt to death on the spot, the vermin used kicks, spearbutts and flats of their blades – apparently, they wanted him alive. Or, judging by their enthusiasm, maybe they just thought that being beaten literally into a pulp is a much more suitable death for someone who killed or wounded a third of them.

Then, the beating suddenly stopped. Ewalt was busy writhing in pain, and trying to protect his eyes and head, so he couldn't really see, what's going on. Judging by a bleeding rat, that heavily and limply fell on him, and whatever noise he could hear through ringing in his own ears, there was a fight again, and his enemies were dying one by one. But Ewalt had no idea who might have rushed to his aid. For almost three seasons now he was the last remaining woodlander warrior on the Ergaph Island, at least on the mainland. Some otters were still holding on the northern coast and on Starscatter Rocks… at least the last time he was there. But they did not dare to venture inland. Vermin troops of the self-crowned King Kunas were far too strong for them to fight on land. So Ewalt wanted to meet his unexpected rescuers, whomever they could be, upright, and with his sword in paw, just in case. But even with the supreme effort of will, he could barely move his paws, much less roll away the rat's body, lying atop him. When somebeast else roughly pushed the corpse aside, Ewalt, for a moment, managed to focus his vision enough to see, who was standing over him…

And that sight took from him all the strength of will he had to fight against the smothering cloud of unconsciousness.

ХХХХХХХХХ

To his own surprise, Ewalt did not came to his senses on a rack, or in a smelly prison pit. He was laying in what seemed a fairly comfortable and warm bed. However, an attempt to move his limbs even slightly immediately informed the mouse that his entire upper half is bound to that bed.

"Please, don't struggle. You have a concussion, and probably some cracked bones. You might hurt yourself." The voice was surprisingly calm and gentle. Ewalt slowly opened his eyes, and saw a comely female squirrel in faded once-green garb, sitting next to his bed. She was, perhaps, no longer young, it was always a bit hard to tell with species other than your own, but her fur remained bright red, and her eyes gleamed green. Such a pretty sight was not the thing Ewalt expected to see in a vermin den. He remained silent, trying to figure out what's going on, and when the pause stretched uncomfortably, the squirrel added. "We also don't want you hurting anyone else out of confusion. You're among friends."

"I… I d-don't know what you are, but friends don't t-tie f-friends," responded Ewalt. He still felt so dizzy, that tongue tripped.

"I'm sorry. That's a simple precaution, so that you won't accidentally kill somebeast after coming to your senses. You will be untied, if you promise not to attack any of the beasts here."

"W-what beasts they are?"

"Mine beasts." Answered a deep voice from the far corner of the room – the room, which, as Ewalt now notices, was somewhere deep underground. There were steps, then another beast appeared in his field of vision – the one he saw just before passing out. A saturnine ferret, with dark, nearly black fur and undercoat of deep yellow. He was not especially big, as ferrets go, and dressed in well-worn clothes, but there was an undeniable air of authority and menace about him. Ewalt happened to know this beast. He had even seen him in person a couple of times, although not nearly this close. He was called Marroch, or Marroch of the Whiteweir, or – although probably not to his face – Marroch the Cold, and not so long ago Ewalt couldn't have imagined that he will be almost relieved to be in his paws, of all beasts.

"Let me explain your situation, mouse. You are here, because you and I have a common enemy. One against whom we stand no chance by themselves. So I have a proposal that you should hear. Once you can think clearly. Without trying to kill me or any of my warriors. If you swear to not attack us until we part ways, you'll be freed. If you don't, you'll have to be tied for the time being."

Ewalt considered his options, as far as he could gather his thoughts in his present condition. Noticing that he has no chance of surviving without playing along was not hard. He nodded weakly, pain shooting through his nape and neck again from that simple movement.

"Swear an oath by the Dark Forest, and your ancestors, and you'll be free." The ferret's words gave Ewalt pause. Oaths like this were a serious matter among woodlanders of Ergaph, the ferret obviously knew as much. And at the moment Ewalt was clearly unable to think of any clever wording that might render his oath void, even if he was any good at such double-dealing to begin with.

"I… I swear. By The D-Dark Forest, and all my forefathers, let me have no rest till death and after, if I betray your hosh… hospitality!" Talking was clearly hard for Ewalt, but Marroch just listened intently, until he was finished. Then turned to the squirrelnurse. "You can untie him. Take care of him, until he's fit for a talk." With these words, the ferret walked away.

The squirrel followed him with a glare, before starting to work on Ewalt' bindings. "Please don't talk anymore. You clearly need a couple more days of total bedrest and quiet. So don't you dare to try anything funny and hurt yourself more. By the way, I'm Rowanbloom. I don't think we've met before... if you wonder, what I'm doing here, well, to make the long story short, that gloomy ferret saved my life, and hid me here, probably because his band needed a healer, but being his, ehm, guest, certainly beats being dead. Oh, sorry, you need rest, and I've just started blabbering to you… Sorry!"

Ewalt just tried to smile in return, but – although he didn't realize that – his face contorted into a scary grimace instead. He was alone, surrounded by vermin, bound to not harm any of them by the oath. And owing his life to them too, not a debt to be easily forgotten. And he wasn't at all sure if he could trust this suspiciously lively squirrel. Marroch surely wanted him for some twisted scheme. The ferret chieftain of Whiteweir – the former warlord of the fallen domain now – was infamous for ruthless cunning, that brought many victories to his clan in times that now felt like good old days, and Ewalt was sure that this cunning was now at work again. But… this predicament still was better than being dead, never mind brought alive to Kunas. Before worrying about what to do, he had to rest and regain his strength… and so that what he was going to do.


	2. The Warrior and the Warlord

**1. The Warrior and the Warlord.**

It was a bright, cool evening in early autumn. Ewalt always loved clear autumn days like this one… but this time he'd have preferred rainstorm and hurricane to this pleasant weather. Those might have washed away his trail.

Not that Ewalt left much of a trail to begin with. Very tall, for a mouse, but thin and wiry, he stepped lightly, an expert at passing through forest without leaving any visible trace. Or so he thought. Either he wasn't so good, after all, or Kunas' vermin brought with them one of the rare beasts, capable of following tracks by scent alone. They found Ewalt's forest hideout somehow, and pursued him since morning, after he barely avoided their ambush.

The mouse stopped for moment, reclining against a three, to catch his breath and weight his chances. He believed there was at least a dozen of pursuers. He could already faintly hear sounds they made, scrambling though the forest undergrowth, hot on his heels. Far too many to handle, even with surprise. A fight would be gambling his life – if the vermin won't falter and run after the first couple of them falls, he will almost certainly die. But Ewalt was near the limit of his endurance. Trying to outpace the vermin was as much as a gamble, and if he were to fail, he would be taken without even being able to put a fight. The decision was not difficult to make.

The pursuers soon were at the place where Ewalt took his brief rest. Eleven verminbeasts, mostly foxes and rats, all well-armed and battle-scarred raiders. Two small, savage-looking stoats lead the way, crouching and sniffing the ground, even dropping on all four from time to time. Ewalt could congratulate himself on being enough of a thorn in King Kunas's rear, to go to the lengths, needed to find and recruit real trail-sniffers. And on the fact, that he took care to hide upwind from his own tracks, when he doubled back.

Ewalt spent the last dozen of seasons stalking and killing vermin, so it was no wonder that he was good at it. This bunch were veteran warriors, much more keen-eyed and sharp-eared than average, but they still didn't spot him, didn't notice him slipping like a shadow from behind a tree root, and didn't hear his steps, until an archer fox, that trudged behind the rest, suddenly gurgled and fell, stabbed in the back. Before the vermin realized what was going on, Ewalt threw his small spear, which hit the biggest and toughest-looking fox in the group right in the neck, striking him down like a thunderbolt.

But the surviving nine vermin did not panic, contrary to Ewalt's hopes, and their confusion lasted only a couple of seconds – as could be expected from battle-tested fighters. The rat, at whom Ewalt aimed next, jumped to the side, and the mouse's short sword only gashed her shoulder. Another rat rushed Ewalt, swinging his spear low, like a quarterstaff. Ewalt jumped over it and slashed in return, but too shallow, ripping through the enemy's long nose, instead of his throat. The rat still stumbled back. Ewalt used this moment to grab a knife from his belt and throw it right into the open maw of another fox, who roared a battlecry, charging him with a mace. Instincts warned the mouse that the rat he wounded first is behind him. He slashed blindly behind, wheeling on his footpaws. His blade found flesh... but before he could fully turn, something that Ewalt didn't even see slammed into his head, knocking him down. The mouse nearly lost consciousness then and there. In the next minute he almost regretted that that he didn't. Instead of stabbing Ewalt to death on the spot, the vermin used kicks, spearbutts and flats of their blades – apparently, they wanted him alive. Or, judging by their enthusiasm, maybe they just thought that being beaten literally into a pulp is a much more suitable death for someone who killed or wounded a third of them.

Then, the beating suddenly stopped. Ewalt was busy writhing in pain, and trying to protect his eyes and head, so he couldn't really see, what's going on. Judging by a bleeding rat, that heavily and limply fell on him, and whatever noise he could hear through ringing in his own ears, there was a fight again, and his enemies were dying one by one. But Ewalt had no idea who might have rushed to his aid. For almost three seasons now he was the last remaining woodlander warrior on the Ergaph Island, at least on the mainland. Some otters were still holding on the northern coast and on Starscatter Rocks… at least the last time he was there. But they did not dare to venture inland. Vermin troops of the self-crowned King Kunas were far too strong for them to fight on land. So Ewalt wanted to meet his unexpected rescuers, whomever they could be, upright, and with his sword in paw, just in case. But even with the supreme effort of will, he could barely move his paws, much less roll away the rat's body, lying atop him. When somebeast else roughly pushed the corpse aside, Ewalt, for a moment, managed to focus his vision enough to see, who was standing over him…

And that sight took from him all the strength of will he had to fight against the smothering cloud of unconsciousness.

ХХХХХХХХХ

To his own surprise, Ewalt did not came to his senses on a rack, or in a smelly prison pit. He was laying in what seemed a fairly comfortable and warm bed. However, an attempt to move his limbs even slightly immediately informed the mouse that his entire upper half is bound to that bed.

"Please, don't struggle. You have a concussion, and probably some cracked bones. You might hurt yourself." The voice was surprisingly calm and gentle. Ewalt slowly opened his eyes, and saw a comely female squirrel in faded once-green garb, sitting next to his bed. She was, perhaps, no longer young, it was always a bit hard to tell with species other than your own, but her fur remained bright red, and her eyes gleamed green. Such a pretty sight was not the thing Ewalt expected to see in a vermin den. He remained silent, trying to figure out what's going on, and when the pause stretched uncomfortably, the squirrel added. "We also don't want you hurting anyone else out of confusion. You're among friends."

"I… I d-don't know what you are, but friends don't t-tie f-friends," responded Ewalt. He still felt so dizzy, that tongue tripped.

"I'm sorry. That's a simple precaution, so that you won't accidentally kill somebeast after coming to your senses. You will be untied, if you promise not to attack any of the beasts here."

"W-what beasts they are?"

"Mine beasts." Answered a deep voice from the far corner of the room – the room, which, as Ewalt now notices, was somewhere deep underground. There were steps, then another beast appeared in his field of vision – the one he saw just before passing out. A saturnine ferret, with dark, nearly black fur and undercoat of deep yellow. He was not especially big, as ferrets go, and dressed in well-worn clothes, but there was an undeniable air of authority and menace about him. Ewalt happened to know this beast. He had even seen him in person a couple of times, although not nearly this close. He was called Marroch, or Marroch of the Whiteweir, or – although probably not to his face – Marroch the Cold, and not so long ago Ewalt couldn't have imagined that he will be almost relieved to be in his paws, of all beasts.

"Let me explain your situation, mouse. You are here, because you and I have a common enemy. One against whom we stand no chance by themselves. So I have a proposal that you should hear. Once you can think clearly. Without trying to kill me or any of my warriors. If you swear to not attack us until we part ways, you'll be freed. If you don't, you'll have to be tied for the time being."

Ewalt considered his options, as far as he could gather his thoughts in his present condition. Noticing that he has no chance of surviving without playing along was not hard. He nodded weakly, pain shooting through his nape and neck again from that simple movement.

"Swear an oath by the Dark Forest, and your ancestors, and you'll be free." The ferret's words gave Ewalt pause. Oaths like this were a serious matter among woodlanders of Ergaph, the ferret obviously knew as much. And at the moment Ewalt was clearly unable to think of any clever wording that might render his oath void, even if he was any good at such double-dealing to begin with.

"I… I swear. By The D-Dark Forest, and all my forefathers, let me have no rest till death and after, if I betray your hosh… hospitality!" Talking was clearly hard for Ewalt, but Marroch just listened intently, until he was finished. Then turned to the squirrelnurse. "You can untie him. Take care of him, until he's fit for a talk." With these words, the ferret walked away.

The squirrel followed him with a glare, before starting to work on Ewalt' bindings. "Please don't talk anymore. You clearly need a couple more days of total bedrest and quiet. So don't you dare to try anything funny and hurt yourself more. By the way, I'm Rowanbloom. I don't think we've met before... if you wonder, what I'm doing here, well, to make the long story short, that gloomy ferret saved my life, and hid me here, probably because his band needed a healer, but being his, ehm, guest, certainly beats being dead. Oh, sorry, you need rest, and I've just started blabbering to you… Sorry!"

Ewalt just tried to smile in return, but – although he didn't realize that – his face contorted into a scary grimace instead. He was alone, surrounded by vermin, bound to not harm any of them by the oath. And owing his life to them too, not a debt to be easily forgotten. And he wasn't at all sure if he could trust this suspiciously lively squirrel. Marroch surely wanted him for some twisted scheme. The ferret chieftain of Whiteweir – the former warlord of the fallen domain now – was infamous for ruthless cunning, that brought many victories to his clan in times that now felt like good old days, and Ewalt was sure that this cunning was now at work again. But… this predicament still was better than being dead, never mind brought alive to Kunas. Before worrying about what to do, he had to rest and regain his strength… and so that what he was going to do.


	3. The Seer and the King

**2. The Seer and the King.**

Ewalt recovered amazingly fast. Rowanbloom was unable to hide her astonishment. She could do little more besides compresses, and of course, feeding her charge, but three days of that were enough to make Ewalt feel well enough to walk. By the second day, the mouse warrior and the squirrel healer already were spending their time, talking to each other. As Ewalt still felt headaches, and wasn't too wordy even in his best days, so Rowanbloom was doing most of the talking. Unlike him, she was not a native of Ergaph. And she told him about her long voyage by winding river and stormy, with shrews in their logboats and on a big sailing ship crewed by otters, all the way from some faraway place called "Redwall Abbey". Ewalt heard that name maybe a couple of times before, in old legends about a mighty woodlander fortress on the distant and wondrous mainland far to the east, and was quite disappointed to hear that it didn't house a mighty vermin-smiting army, but a gathering of peaceful beasts, far more concerned about their next harvest than about weapons and fighting.

When Ewalt said that, Rowanbloom only laughed. "Well, the reality of Redwall can be disappointing, next to the legend, yes. But as about fighting vermin, I assure you, the Redwallers got quite a knack for that. Should I tell you the story of… hmmmm… how about the story of the Sable Quean and her inglorious defeat?"

And so she did. Before she was too far into the tale, Marroch walked in, to check on his unwilling guest and the squirrel paused, but he only waved his paw. "Continue. I believe I haven't heard this one."

And she continued, apparently completely undaunted by the fact that the subject and the tone of the story might offend the ferret warlord. But if they did, Marroch kept that well hidden. "Your Redwall has Vulpuz' own luck," said he, when, deep in the evening, Rowanbloom finished her narration. "Or your storytellers are good at boasting."

Rowanbloom smiled and shrugged. "A good story can only shine brighter from a small exaggeration, as they say. Who can tell now, if the heroes of old were really so strong and brave, even if I've seen relics of their battles with my own eyes? But Redwall still stands, not sacked and not burned, after many thousands of seasons."

"You have a point," responded Marroch. "Now, mouse, are you feeling well enough for a serious conversation?"

Rowanbloom clearly wanted to say that he didn't, but a cold warning glance from Marroch made her reconsider. Then the mouse said: "Tomorrow, ferret. I think tomorrow I'll be thinking clearly enough."

XXXXXXXX

About that time, on the other side of the island, King Kunas was caught in the throes of fury. The stoat who brought him ill news about the mercenary group, hired to catch Ewalt the Ghost, was glad to have escaped with his life. Which happened mostly because the King was too enraged at first to remember about him specifically. Slaves and soldiers throughout the entire central tower of the Seacrag Castle shuddered, hearing mad yells and loud crashed from the king's chamber. In the recent seasons, Kunas became prone to dark moods and terrible rages, that claimed more than one life.

And now too, when Ubel Fireeyes, the albino ferret Seer and the chief advisor of the King, walked in, he had to step over a mouseslave's body – the poor beast tried to escape alongside with other servants, as well as guards, but the King's axe caught him in the back. Before the ferret made another step, the King himself confronted him.

"Fire and pestilence on you, Ubel!" Kunas punctuated his phrases by swinging in the air his long-hafted battleaxe, which he just used to made a mess out of the King's chamber, where he usually feasted with his officers. "Those were the best trackers on any island! They should have hauled the Ghost before me, dead or alive! And now they're carrion! You must have jinxed them with your doomsaying!"

But the ferret remained unphased. He bowed to the King ceremoniously. "I beg your pardon, oh Mighty Beast, but I, Ubel, never used any my powers on those mercenaries. Merely my mind, to evaluate their skills. And it seems, I haven't misjudged them. Yet, we've not really lost anything by sending them after Ewalt the Ghost. Dead mercenaries demand no payment."

"Payment?!" screamed the King, spit flying everywhere. "You bloody, blighted bastard! Who cares about silver and iron?! I want revenge for my brother! I want the Ghost's head on a spear! I want to make a rug out of his hide! Why can't all your witchery find him?!"

Kunas stopped for a second, breathing heavily. He was big, even for a pine marten, and although long seasons of indulging every vice known to beasts ruined the perfectly built body of his youth, there was still enough strength in him to wield his mighty battleaxe as if it was a feather. And in the far end of the chamber still stood the only creature the King never struck even when losing himself to anger, his inseparable bodyguard – Captain Yellowgang, a huge cat, infamous across Ergaph for lack of wit, abundance of ferocity, and absolute loyalty to Kunas. Ubel, on the other hand, was a ferret of average height, thin and lean as an old bone, not much of a warrior by any measure. So, while he was not exactly afraid at the moment, he knew, that if Kunas suddenly decides to find a more competent Seer, he won't live long enough to run out of the chamber, much less long enough for the King to regret such idea. Kunas had to be placated swiftly.

"Catching even a glimpse into the future is not trivial, my King. But let your wrath turn into joy, for tonight in my sleep I've seen a certain omen, one sent by Vulpuz himself – the thing that troubles my lord the most today will disappear before this season is gone."

Kunas lowered his axe, eyeing the Seer suspiciously, and growled. "Promises, promises... You said I'll reign supreme, and yet my soldiers cannot catch some accursed mouse!"

Ubel bowed again, before the King managed to stir himself into further rage. "If my prediction proves false, please take my own head on the day of the first snow. But I'm certain, that Ewalt will despoil your land no more before the turn of seasons."

"On the first day of winter, huh? We'll see about that." Kunas looked around in disgust, at chairs smashed against the walls, shards of bottles, precious wines spilled on the floor and mixing with blood. "Now, where are my cravenly servants? Where is that wench? The King needs more wine!"

"I'll call them in a moment, oh Frightening One."

When the dead body was dragged away, summoned slaves began their cleaning work, and the King was safely seated on his throne, with a cup of plum wine in hand and a young pine marten next to him, ready to refill that cup whenever needed, Ubel slipped away from the chamber. Calming down the King when he had tantrums was important, of course. But truly, he had better things to do this day.

"I wonder if you've really seen that omen." The beast who spoke that liked to scare fellow vermin, sneaking up on them, and suddenly saying something right over their shoulders, but although his step was very soft, Ubel who had already seen him at the doors of the King's chamber, was not so easy to surprise.

"I wonder if you still really doubt that I, Ubel, have powers beyond the ken of mundane beasts, Rugger." The albino ferret walked from the central tower into the wide stone-cobbled courtyard of the Castle Seacrag as he spoke that. Slaves and vermin soldiers alike tried to give him and his companion a wide berth, at least as far as was possible without drawing their attention by overt fear. Ubel was known not only as the King's Seer, already not a figure to be trifled with, but as more than that, a sorcerer, who can peer into the dark forest beyond the world of living and consort with things that dwelt there. Few vermin doubted efficacy of his malefice, and, just as importantly, everybeast knew that he needed sacrifices for it. His unwanted companion, Rugger the Black, was almost as infamous – while hurting others was pretty much the job description for a Captain in Kunas' army, this fox enjoyed it far too much for anybeast's comfort. Even King didn't yet hang him from the highest wall of the Castle Seacrag only because there was no better swordbeast in his army. Even their appearances were frightening enough to match their reputation. Ubel, as an albino he was, had pale white fur and bright red eyes, and his cloak was a ghastly trophy – a fox hide, flayed wholesale, and turned into garment. It once belonged to Amber, the fox Seer renowned not only on the island, but on the whole seas, as far as searats roamed. In her pride she refused to bow down before the upstart ferret and accept his seniority as a mystic, and so he made her into a reminder of his power and ruthlessness. Rugger had an even rarer and more uncanny coloration for his species – coal black, befitting his soubriquet, even if that was given because of Rugger's temper, rather than fur color, with eyes so pale yellow, that they seemed white. His red cloak, and the dark viperskin belt from which his long, curved sword hanged, made him and even more impressive sight.

"You know," answered Rugger after thinking a bit. "I've seen great many seers on my life, that I did. You may well be the smartest of them all. But if any of you ever had powers beyond fast-talking gullible muscleheads, why you always gnaw some warlord's scraps, instead of ruling on your own? Speaking of which, you've seemed awfully confident giving our beloved King that promise. I wonder if you really seen an omen so conveniently? Or do you not expect him to call you on it?"

Ubel was now walking up the weather-beaten mossy stone stairway, leading to the walltop on the seaside, Rugger right behind him. Their little conversation was obviously taking a dangerous direction, and the ferret wanted to continue it where they were least likely to be overheard.

"One thing I certainly expect is for you to go mad from boredom before this season is gone, Rugger, if you already know no better than to play these games with me. But don't you worry. You may doubt my power as a Seer, but know, that I've already seen how to give you your heart's desire."

The black fox licked his lips. Ubel didn't need to turn to feel his malice. "I wonder if you really can see what I desire?"

"Here and now you desire to gut me on the spot, because you think I'm toying with you. But what you truly crave is fighting an even bigger, more glorious, bloodier war and settling your score with that one foe you failed to beat." The ferret reached the top of the stairs and turned to face the fox. Now, that Rugger was forced to stand a step below, they were of the same height, and Ubel could stare right into his pale eyes without looking up. "And if you can muster a little patience, you'll have both, as, thanks to my efforts, pieces are already falling into place."


	4. Doubt

**3. Doubt.**

And so, on the next day, Marroch appeared again in the room, dug beneath the roots of the huge pine, where Ewalt rested. This time another ferret followed, a female, bearing clear familiar similarity to the young warlord, but taller, with broader shoulders, and brighter fur colors.

"Get us something to drink, Rowanbloom." Said that, Marroch turned to Ewalt, who sat on the edge of his large bed, when he heard that someone is coming: "That's Kethra, my younger sister, if you haven't seen her before."

Kethra waved her paw to Ewalt. "Good to know you. Didn't think a preybeast can be this fierce, till seeing what you did to those trackers."

"If that was a compliment, I can only answer that neither did I think that a vermin can be so friendly." Ewalt knew, that while he was theoretically in their power, those ferrets needed him, and he also knew, that earning respect among vermin required bravado, so swallowing an insult, in case it was intentional, would be a bad move. But just as importantly, he instantly disliked Kethra. Friendliness didn't smell sincere to him in this situation.

But Marroch did not want any bickering, so before Kethra figured out that she has been insulted, he cut them off: "Now, that you've exchanged greetings, we can go to the point."

The ferret made a long pause, as if expecting Ewalt to ask a question, then moved one of the crudely made chairs, that decorated the room closer to the bed and sat, before continuing: "As I said before, we have the common enemy. I know your story, Ewalt, and so does most of Ergaph. You're famous now. To Kunas's soldiers you're the bogeybeast, the avenger who will never stop hunting them, the Ghost of the Woods, who kills silently and disappears without trace. Many whisper that you can't be slain by sword or arrow. You've killed Kunas' own younger brother. Kunas promised your weight in silver to anybeast who brings you alive, but only the weight of your head to one who brings you dead, and I believe he did so to show his soldiers that you are a living mouse, rather than a revenant out of Hellgates, not just to have satisfaction of personally torturing you to death. But." Marroch made a brief pause, to underline the importance of what he was going to say. "No matter how much you vex Kunas and his lickspittles, you cannot bring him down. You've already did your best to kill Kunas by himself, but wasted your best shot, am I not right?"

Ewalt nodded, thought for a second, then spoke. "I, however, don't believe you can give me a better shot at him. How many beasts you still have in your rout, a dozen? A score? A whole hundred won't be enough to break through Kunas' personal band of murderers at his tower, even if I somehow open the main gate of Castle Seacrag for you. That if fate smiles on them, and they reach the castle without alerting Kunas' whole army."

"Sure, no one on Ergaph can scrape Kunas out of his Castle Seacrag by strength. And if even you gave up, this means no one can assassinate him by stealth too. But besides strength and stealth, there is also guile."

The ferret's words were too smug, and Ewalt couldn't help but retort. "And does your "guile" go beyond arranging some treachery? Methinks Kunas had seen those many times already."

Marroch fell silent, staring at Ewalt as if wanting to drill a hole in him, but Kethra just laughed. "Ain't you a bold one? But no worry, I'd bet my teeth, that marten scumsucker won't see through brother's treachery, cause..."

"Be silent!" The ferret warlord took a deep breath, and continued in his normal tone. "We don't want our guest to know too much before he agrees to help us, don't we Kethra? Now, Ewalt – why don't you go ahead and say, how much you detest us, if you want to?"

"Sorry." The warrior mouse did not flinch before Marroch's stare. "I'm not a master of words, so explaining how much I detest you is not even possible. But I heard, that besides being a raider, a slaver and a killer, you are a pretty smart beast, Marroch of Whiteweir, so you should have realized himself – the sky will fall into the sea sooner than I'll call any of your kind my friend."

"Be assured, I detest you as well. Asking a mouse for help galls me, as does the very idea of relying on some outsider, because my beasts are not good enough. "Friend?" Me, or any ferret of my blood, would rather let oneself be flayed bit by bit, than accept a mouse as a friend." The ferret stopped sneering, and his calm tone returned again. "But next to my hatred of Kunas that's nothing. So I'll employ you, and I'll let you into my plans, and I'll swear whatever oath you need to feel safe, until Kunas is dead and we part our ways. If your own hatred is as strong as mine, of course."

Ewalt was taken aback by apparent sincerity of these words. But he wasn't about to trust someone as crafty as Marroch so easily. "Well, we can talk about it. But not here. Once I fully recover, which must be in a couple of days, return me my weapons and let me leave your roof. Then, if you're serious, we can take a good, long walk in the forest, you and me, alone. Or perhaps Rowanbloom can be with us too."

"Are you outta your mind, you filthy wormtail?!" Kethra jumped up from her chair, grasping for her dagger, but Marroch seized her paw, before she could unsheathe the weapon. "Why you won't try to think for a second! I'll need to trust him with my life anyway, does it matter when to start?"

"Hmph!" Kethra snorted, and sat back, paws crossed on her chest. At this moment, Rowanbloom walked in with a clay bottle of ale and three cups, and this discharged the tension somewhat. If the three beasts in the room could agree on anything at the moment, it was that they would really like to have a drink. After taking a small sip of ale, Marroch added. "And besides, sister, don't you remember that before becoming Ewalt the Ghost our guest was known as Ewalt the Earnest? I still remember how he and his comrades battled our late father. He is not the type to attack treacherously. Are you, Ewalt?"

The mouse screwed his face into a smile. "Warrior's honor and scruples… do you really think I could've survived alone for so many seasons sticking to them? Want to bet your tail on it?"

"You lost your thanks for saving you sorry hide with them, methinks," grumbled Kethra. But Marroch remained silent for a time, before speaking slowly. "A poor bet that will be. But we'll have our walk, as you ask, nevertheless."

XXXXXX

Face to face with Ewalt Marroch remained calm, but that didn't last long after he retreated to his own room of the underground dwelling. He paced back and forth across the small space, breathing heavily, as if the air suddenly became suffocating, until Kethra couldn't bear this anymore:

"Blood and thunder! Let me just go and split his stupid head, brother!"

"No!" Marroch knew that his sister is a straightforward beast and usually means what she says. He looked around, as if suddenly remembering something, and asked lowering his voice almost to whisper: "Rowabloom can't know we killed moles that built this hideout, yes?"

Kethra shrugged: "No, that was seasons before we took her in, only we two are still alive from that time…"

"But she can figure it out! Or Ewalt himself…"

Kethra slammed her fists into the wooden table, now getting really angry: "By Vulpuz' bones, is that my big brother? You babbled now it's not your destiny to fall from his paw, and now you're tucking your tail?"

"Quiet!" barked Marroch, and added more calmly. "Others might hear too much. But you're right. He just means to test my resolve, he has too."

"He's succeeding," muttered Kethra. Marroch just snorted, deciding not to argue the obvious. Ewalt the Ghost scared him, more than he believed to be possible. It was not even the warrior mouse's confidence and impudence. The ferret warlord couldn't get rid of the impression, that Ewalt looks at him with the same lack of any real passion he himself was noted for in dealing with woodlander slaves at the time of his youth, when his clan had a lot of them. In Ewalt's presence he felt like a fish on the cooking table, when the chef decides whether to carve it now or later.

But Marroch wouldn't have lived as long as he did, had he been unable to handle his own fear.


	5. The Reasons for Revenge

**4. The Reasons for Revenge.**

During the night it rained, but the next morning was bright again. The beauty of the early autumn forest and freshness of the morning were completely lost on the two woodlanders and one vermin, as they walked away from the hideout between the roots of an enormous old pine, followed by glares of Marroch's entire small band, and consumed by their own deliberations. Ewalt counted about a score of vermin in the camp, a few clearly young and green, but mostly seasoned slayers. He even recognized a couple of them, some by description, some even personally. Gripclaw, Spikepelt, Suran Longspear... Those were not the beasts to be taken lightly. This led Ewalt to another thought...

"I wonder why none of your beasts had yet sold us to Kunas." Ewalt had recovered near-completely now, and walked swiftly.

The ferret snorted and kicked a small toadstool out of his way. "Don't hold me for a fool. All of them have their own grudges against Kunas. I still could have mustered thrice this number but I picked only the most reliable beasts."

As they agreed, Marroch was unarmed, while Ewalt carried his entire arsenal – the small straight sword, the couple of daggers and the spear with leaf-shaped head, a bit shorter than he was tall. The mouse warrior suspected that Marroch hid a knife under his jerkin, but against a spear that was about as good as bare paws, so he decided not to press the issue, as Kethra and most of the other vermin already looked very eager to rip him apart. But, despite this, as far as Ewalt's sharp senses could tell, they weren't being followed after leaving the camp.

"Good to know. Now, Rowanbloom, don't you want to tell me anything?"

Rowanbloom didn't answer right away, and it took her half a minute to finally speak:

"It is plain as day, that you want to know how I was treated here and if I want to escape, oh please, I have head on my shoulders too." The squirrel put a paw on her forehead, trying to gather her thoughts. "I don't even know what to say, that's strange, never thought to have this problem. Surely, I'm a prisoner, merely a valuable slave, and some of the beasts here can be quite brutish, no need to frown, Marroch, not you or your sister. But, somehow, I feel like escaping from here will be like running away from the battle... as if serving them as healer and cook is something I can do… need to do… Oh, I'm sorry, I'm babbling again"

Rowanbloom took a deep breath. "Let's put it that way. I told you already, Ewalt, I was first captured by Kunas' soldiers when the ship I sailed on was wrecked by a storm, and I ended up on this island. I've met that King. And I've met his captains and Seer. My fellow survivors died screaming at their command, I was spared, don't know why or for how long. You can say that I want revenge for my comrades, or that anybeast who saved me from whatever fate I was set aside for deserves my gratitude. I guess that all will be true. But it is not all… When I saw them, that huge pine marten, and his retinue, the black fox, the white ferret, I've felt terror beyond terror. I don't know how to put it in words. As if I stood at the edge of an enormous crack, going to the very bowels of the Earth, and that edge was crumbling beneath my paws. At that moment I knew, don't ask me how, that every horrible thing that they have done on Ergaph is only the very beginning of what is yet to come. I'm not strong or brave, about fighting I only know that you have to stick the enemy with the pointy end of your weapon. But here I at least can help those who do know how to fight. My freedom and my life are not a big price, even for just slowing that terror a bit, if you ask me."

"I say that again – you have a seer's gift," commented Marroch. "Even thought it is unheard of for your species."

"Oh, please. Everybeast knows that only great badger lords and spirits of our heroic ancestors can see the future, and my mind probably just made things up to justify my fright, and I'm just bad at saying what I feel then anyway, as I said, it can't be put into words. But..." she shrugged. "I want to run back in Redwall, but I can't. And that is it."

"I'm surprised that you, of all ferrets, believe in future-seeing." Ewalt stopped for a moment, to choose the path.

"Because I seem too smart to believe in superstitions and deceit?" Marroch scowled. "True seers exist, mouse. Hope to never have one tell you your fortunes."

For a time, all three walked silently, until Ewalt finally stopped next to a rocky slope of a gullet, that was cut through the wood by a fast, prattling creek, running down from the mountains. In two jumps, he was at the bottom, drank a few pawfuls of tasty, ice-cold water, and ran back to his companions almost as swiftly. His body clearly obeyed him well now. "Let's sit and talk here."

Marroch looked around. The bottom of the gullet was reasonably hidden from accidental prying eyes, and there were a few boulders to sit on down below. Somehow the mouse managed to find a secluded spot despite hardly visiting these parts before. So, before long, all three beasts made themselves as comfortable as it was possible on the bare stones. Ewalt spoke first.

"You know, ferret, I thought hard how to test your heart. But really, I'm not a weaver of words who can trick the truth out of a beast like you, and even if I were, such trickery just strikes my fur the wrong way. So I'll ask you one thing. You said you really hate Kunas. Why?"

Marroch looked straight into the mouse warrior's dark blue eyes. "Are losing my power, my land, most of my family to him not reasons enough to hate him?"

"I don't know." Ewalt made a helpless gesture. "In the times before Kunas rumors said that more ferrets of your clan died to each other's blades, than in battles with your enemies, so I'm not sure if you liked your family that much. And if it is just the matter of power and domain, why throw yourself against the False King and his army, instead of leaving to seek better fortunes in some softer land?"

Marroch kept staring at him for several moments, then made a decision. "Well, as beasts say, one look is worth a thousand words."

The ferret rose, removed his jerkin in a few forceful motions – there were no hidden weapons, despite what Ewalt thought earlier – and turned away from the mouse. And though the latter was no stranger to ghastly injuries and mutilations, what he saw gave even him pause. Marroch's back was a mess of scars and welts, the luxurious coat of fur torn apart so much, that only a few clumps of hair still grew among nauseous pink and grey scar tissue. The ferret must have been subjected to a truly brutal lashing, and Ewalt wondered how he even survived it.

"Okay. Now I understand your grudge. Among slavers like you, being lashed to death, like a mere slave, is the most humiliating execution, isn't it?"

Marroch slammed his fist into his palm. His emotions were getting the better of him, however he tried to keep his famous cold demeanor: "Spare me your irony! Kunas, when I was taken before him, said, that the world is too small for the two of us. I agree. His mistake was appointing lazy executioners, who got tired and left me to bleed out before I was dead, so I still drew breath, when my sister raided his camp in the evening."

Rowanbloom rose, to help Marroch put his jerkin back. "I was snatched from Kunas' paws on that evening too".

"And then you helped me recover," nodded the ferret. "But the only thing Kethra managed to save was my life. She is brave, but not smart, and after she brained a wrong ferret in a quarrel, while I was still half-dead, most of our remaining beasts turned coats, and all was lost. Or, maybe, not all, for I have a plan now. But I need a beast of your caliber for it to work. So, what do you say?"

Ewalt remained silent.

XXXXXXXX

Meanwhile at the Marroch's camp, some of his underlings had a lively conversation, regarding their chief's chances to return alive or to recruit the infamous Ghost to his service, if he does. Life in the secret forest hideout was truly boring, and any form of excitement was welcome. A bunch of older veterans, fierce-looking and battlescarred beasts who fancied themselves an elite part of the small gang, and therefore mostly pushed any and all work that had to be done in the camp on weaker and less experienced vermin, sat together in a circle to talk.

"Eh, methinks our chief will get what he wants. Ain't he the smartest ferret on the island?" The thin rat scout called Luggun always supported Marroch, at least out loud. "Doesn't he have his warlord's luck?"

"Luck, shluck. Did ye see how that Ghost glared at everyone? Such hate! Mark me words, he'll rather chew his tail off than work with our kind. I'll bet tis favored dagger of meself on that." Spikepelt, another ferret, brandished said dagger, and Luggun backed a bit away, to avoid having her nose cut off accidentally.

"Oh? Then I accept that bet." The small circle of gathered vermin raised their heads, to see another member of their gang, who just walked up to them – a tall, sinewy middle-aged fox, with thick fur of brownish rusty-red, garbed in a green cloak, once luxurious, now worn-out and patched many times. "And I'll bet my old trusty sword against your dagger."

Spikepelt hissed something unintelligible, but hateful. It was not hard to see that the fox is very sure to win this bet. Yet taking it back was now impossible. While Spikepelt was a tough, double-dyed raider, with claws of eight slain foes hanging from his necklace, he didn't feel bold enough to challenge Suran Longspear, the most infamous vermin warrior on the whole Ergaph. Of course, some beasts these days said that Suran was losing his grasp, due to age catching up with him. But they always checked if the fox was within earshot first.

"You said something?" No doubt, Suran enjoyed seeing his lesser afraid.

"Me said, how can ye be this sure?" grumbled Spikepelt.

"Huh? What your ears are for, if you haven't even heard how Ewalt the little mouse, Ewalt the Earnest, became Ewalt the Ghost?"

Spikepelt snarled, his anger perhaps getting over his fear for a moment: "Why don't ye tell us, ye were then in Kunas' ranks and saw it yerself, ain't ye?"

"Sure I was." Suran easily agreed. "That's why his army was invincible in the field, after all. Ewalt and his tribe lived at the southern shore, before Kunas marched on them. Bold fighters all, at least for mice, and they did not submit to any warlord before. We won, of course, but seven or eight of their fiercest warriors escaped when we razed their caves. By the teeth of the dead, that bunch gave us more trouble than the entire rest of their tribe, striking in the night, always hiding just out of sight, picking off foragers, sniping sentries, setting fires, and befouling water with our own dead. And Ewalt was the chief of those guerillas. Kunas, and his brother Mirgas – you all remember, he had a younger brother, right? So, both of them were frothing with rage every bloody day because of Ewalt, and it was then when I starting thinking that fighting for them ain't fun anymore. Maybe that's why I spent most of my time on raids, and wasn't at the castle, when someone there had a bright idea. Kunas gathered all the surviving prisoners and slaves from Ewalt's tribe, and swore, and proclaimed far and wide, that he will kill all of them, unless Ewalt and his warriors give themselves up, to buy lives of their tribemice with their own heads."

"And Ewalt was fool enuff to do dis?" asked the big, dimwitted weasel, named Gripclaw, shaking his head incredulously.

"Oh yes!" Suran laughed. "And then, I was said, Kunas commanded to make a big fire pit, and threw first hostages, and then Ewalt with his warriors into it. I don't know why, maybe he was still smarting from all the times Ewalt gave him the slip before."

Other vermin met the story with silence, even those who already heard it. None of them were strangers to cruelty, calculated or wanton, but such atrocity gave even them pause. Suran, however, remained cheerful as if he was cracking jokes.

"But, you see, Ewalt refused to stay dead. The Kunas ordered a feast in Castle Seacrag that evening, to celebrate his victory. Or maybe he didn't want all that roasted meat to go to waste. Either way, everybeast got drunker than searats on their first night back at home port. And on the next morning a half dozen of guards were found dead as dust, and so was King's own brother, Mirgas. The mouse that killed them all aimed for the King himself, I think, they told me, that Mirgas, drunk as he was, grabbed his big brother's cloak, when going out in the cold of the night. No one wanted to tell me where exactly his corpse was found, though."

This time some vermin sniggered, and the fox continued: "So that's how they first found that Ewalt is back and that's why Ewalt is called the Ghost – they say, he crawled back from the flames of Hellgates to avenge his kin. Since then, I recon, he harried Kunas' horde all alone for five seasons. So, do you really think there is something he won't do to take the head of that fat joke of a king?"

Then Suran turned and bowed with a flourish to Kethra, who just came to see what the commotion was about and heard the end of his story.

"I hope my little story allayed your fears, my beautiful warlady."

Kethra bristled. It was no secret at all, that she didn't like the turncoat fox and thought that he is up to no good. "I fear nothing! I trust in brother knowing what he's doing more than in your tales! But," she added, as her curiosity outweighted anger, "do you think that Ewalt is a deadbeast walking for real?"

Suran shrugged and scratched his chin, thinking. "Sure he looks like a mice of that dead tribe. And they said, Ewalt the Earnest had dark blue eyes, the same as him. But if deadbeasts could return from the other side for revenge, why I am not haunted by a bunch of them yet? Maybe not all of the mice warriors surrendered to Kunas that day, who knows how many they really numbered and if one of them was smarter than the rest?"

"And who said Ewalt, if he' truly a ghost, is not going to take his revenge on you as well?" Kethra chuckled. "You were fighting against his tribe in Kunas' ranks too, ain't you?"

"Your desire to see me dead pains me, my ruthless mistress, oh yes, it does. But even if Ewalt indeed crawled from that firepit by some witchery, we all saw that he still can bleed and be beaten, like all beasts. So if he comes after me, I'll just lop his head off, and we'll see if he can come back from that."

Their conversation was interrupted by shout from a stoat soldier, who was left staying on guard. "Ahoy! Errybeast! Master Marroch is back!"

The entire group of vermin was instantly in motion, everybeast wanting to see if their chieftain was alright, Kethra ahead of others. Not that most of them liked the saturnine ferret that much, but everybeast knew that without Marroch and his cunning mind their perspectives are grim indeed – Kunas, of which character they were just reminded, was not likely to accept surrender from his most persistent vermin enemies, even if a number of them weren't deserters from his army in the first place. Many also were in haste to see whose predictions will come true.

Indeed, Marroch was coming back, walking up the trail, with both Rowanbloom and Ewalt in tow. Kethra ran up to them, almost jumping on Marroch to hug him, but stopped in her tracks, seeing a disdainful look on the older ferret's face.

"What's up, little sister? Did you really think I was wrong enough to get myself killed?"

"Ehm... nothing!" Kethra protested, backing away, as Marroch continued walking. "Is he... are you with us now?"

This time it was Ewalt's turn to look at her as if he was trying to explain something to a stupid babe. "Why would I be here otherwise? Make no mistake, we're not friends. Our paths just go the same way until our revenge is complete."

A couple dozen paces away, Suran turned to Spikepelt. "Looks like I won the bet. My dagger?"

Spikepelt felt a little braver now, as two of his old buddies, Gripclaw and Farool, were right behind his back, and he was pretty sure than even Suran won't dare to start a fight right before Marroch and Kethra.

"Yer dagger?! Ye… urgh!" Just as the ferret started sticking out his chest and pumping himself up, he swallowed the rest his words, as Suran socked him straight in the belly, with a short, almost unnoticeable from aside, but a frighteningly powerful blow. Before Spikepelt managed to take a breath again, or Gripclaw and Farool figured out what's going on, Suran already snatched the contested dagger from behind Spikepelt's sash with another lighting-fast movement.

"Why, thank you." The other vermin around laughed uproariously at these words, even Gripclaw and Farool couldn't help but snigger. Marroch, who looked in their direction for a second, to see what's happening, and whether he needs to break up a fight, saw that, and decided that whatever the incident was, it doesn't merit his attention. Spikepelt's nose and ears turned red with rage, but it didn't take a genius to recognize that the crowd now was on Suran's side – even those who feared him, and didn't like how eager he was to pin Spikepelt to his words, had to appreciate his quick action and cruel humor. And of course, no one here had much sympathy for losers. So the ferret turned and stormed away, to spare himself from further humiliation.

Suran looked at his back, then at the dagger he just gained – a good, sharp straight blade, with carved wooden handle, polished by paws of several owners – shrugged and walked back to the camp. Taking what he wanted by force was his way of life ever since he first took up the sword, so what was the point of worrying about making enemies now?


	6. Visions

**Author's Notes:** Well, now one of the two canonical characters that were remotely likely appear in this fic, considering its timeline, makes her entrance.

**5. Visions.**

Even the greatest and most complicated patterns start from a mere couple of threads sticking together. When destinies of several creatures intertwined on the faraway island of Ergaph, the future that started to emerge was so far beyond their straightforward goals, that they couldn't imagine it in their wildest dreams. Even those rare few living creatures, who had the ability to glimpse the designs of fate, hardly could comprehend what was truly happening. Yet the latter, in whatever corner of the land they were, at least knew that _something_ is afoot.

A misshapen figure far in the south, peered in yellow, sulfurous bonfire, and laughed, when dancing flames started taking shapes for a fleeting couple of moments. A champion in the east awoke, after seeing a dream that wasn't really a dream. A great bird in the north flew through the middle of thunderstorm, oblivious of the risk, driven by things unseen to others. And a Badger Lady on the western coast started noticing signs of the doom, prophecised countless seasons before her birth, before the creatures of destiny even met.

Maybe because of that, or maybe by sheer coincidence, the night of the autumn day, when Ewalt the mouse agreed to fight for Marroch the ferret, was a night of merriment and festivities in the great mountain fortress of Salamandastron. The first autumn storm swept the coast unusually early in this turn of seasons – good news for fighting hares of the Long Patrol, as few corsairs dared to approach the huge stretch of coastline they traditionally protected in foul weather. There were no safe anchorages between the outlet of the River Moss in the north and the Southsward in the south, and so it was reasonable to assume, that any corsairs or freebooters, who might be out in the sea, are turning their ships towards their home havens now. And as it happened, just a day before a big group of Patrollers returned home after fortuitously intercepting a seavermin slavers' raid down south before they could flee back to the ships with their prisoners, and trashing the foe soundly. Therefore, Lady Violet Wildstripe decided that a feast is in order, to celebrate a triumphant ending for the seasons of danger.

So, tonight Salamandastron hummed with sounds of rambunctious songs, wild dances, enthusiastic toasts, friendly scuffles, and, of course, with clatter of dishes and goblets. Hares certainly knew how to enjoy themselves with abandon, and this was doubly true for Long Patrollers.

However, this apparently weren't true for the Badger Lady herself. After seeing that the feast is well underway, she quietly slipped from the main halls of the mountain, and went away up, to a small stone balcony high in the mountain slope, serving as an observation platform – and as one of her favorite spots. Yet if she truly hoped to enjoy some solitude, those hopes were soon dashed, as swift steps echoed across the narrow stone ladder leading to the balcony, and Captain Aldwin, a big, black-eared, flippant-looking, hare, waltzed into it, bearing a tray with a pile of pies, a bottle of cider and a couple of cups on one paw. Despite Captain's un-captainlike gallop, and the fact that a considerable amount of cider already of was within him, the tray remained as steady, as if it was safely placed on a table.

"Oh, here you are. I couldn't help, but notice, you were hardly eatin' or drinkin' anything, today! What a sort of feast it is, if our fair Ruler doesn't feast, wot? The Long Patrol will be the flipplin' laughingstock of the whole world, if we allow our Badger Lady to go famished, I say! So, here I am, forgive my impudence." He carefully placed the tray on top of the stone parapet and bowed.

Lady Violet Wildstripe couldn't help but smile. She knew Aldwin since he was but a babe, they were close to each other, and a bit of unwanted persistence was not something for what she could get angry at the jovial hare. "I appreciate the thought, Aldwin. I am... just not in the mood for wild merriment today."

The Badger Lady picked a slice of rhubarb pie, more to avoid disappointing her friend, than because she wanted to eat.

"If I'm allowed to tell, you're hardly ever in the mood for anything that is merry, cheerful and joyous, since the last spring, if not before. Blinkin' shame! What's wrong, I wonder?"

Violet ate in a regal manner, taking small bites and chewing carefully, that's why she avoided chocking on the pie. Now, she expected, that Aldwin, who knew her better than other hares, will sooner or later notice the melancholy she wanted to conceal, but suddenness and directness of his question took her by surprise. She answered slowly:

"If I say that there's nothing wrong, that would be a lie. If I could say what is wrong, you, my old friend, would be first to hear that. Your concern warms my heart, but there are things that should not be revealed to anybeast, not even you. Yet."

"Prophecy things, wot? Ill omens?" Aldwin seemed unperturbed, and when Violet just nodded, he sighed deeply. Then he took the bottle of cider and filled both cups. "Ain't no ill thought, that a cup of jolly good ale couldn't banish, my father said. A cup of cider can help too, I guess."

The black-eared hare took a large gulp from his own cup and continued: "Besides, what's the point worryin' about prophecies, wot? Never understood that, my Lady."

Violet was intrigues by that remark: "And why is that?"

Aldwin waved his paw across the dark vastness of the night-time horizon, that stretched before them, feebly illuminated only be a few lights, glimmering from the windows of the mountain halls down below, and Violet's own small lamp: "As I recon from those old stories you told us, when I was a leveret, prophecies always are tricky – you think they mean one thing, but they can bally well mean another! Even if they tell that you'll stand triumphant over your foe, they might just forget to add, that the foe will be down, but not out! And if a prophecy foretells misfortune… well, I'm not the wise Lady of the Mountain here, to tell if we can fool it, avert the disaster. But if we can, let's just do it! And if we can't, big deal! Death awaits everybeast too, but you don't see us all gloomy because we can't live forever, wot?"

"It's all about what we do while we're alive." Violet finished the idea for him, and sipped from her cup, before continuing. "Now, Aldwin, imagine this. You and your score of hares are facing seavermin ten times your number, and there is a village's worth of goodbeasts, making a run for the Fire Mountain behind you – they cannot outrun corsairs without a good headstart. Fortunately, you stand in a narrow pass in a seashore bluff, and a score of good warriors can hold it for many hours, before vermin find trailways up the bluff and kill you all. Seavermin also can rout if their captain falls, so if you and every one of your hares, all charge them at once, and try to break through to him, there is a small chance of winning. But those vermin also are just a vanguard of a much bigger fleet, and you need to warn me about it, and even if you hold the pass, villagers might not run fast enough to escape. So what will you do?"

Colonel Aldwin scratched his ear nervously, realizing, that he's being tested and there must be some sort of moral lesson in Badger Lady's conundrum. Before he managed to come up with an answer, Violet continued: "Not an easy question? Neither was the one placed before me, when I first entered the Secret Chamber of Badger Lords on the shortest day of the last winter season. Beasts think that I know no fear or hesitation, but to you I can admit, that when stepping there I dreaded seeing my own doom, like Boar the Fighter did. I was wrong. Knowing when and how I will perish would have been much easier."

Aldwin laughed without much joy in his voice, and bowed again: "Please forgive this flippin' fool, for doing you scant justice. I should have known the strength of a Badger Ruler better!"

"No offense taken." Violet put her paw on the hare's shoulder, and straightened him, to look into his eyes. "But promise me one thing. I know, that no hare is more faithful, true and loyal to me than you, my friend. Unfortunately, one day soon, you might be forced to choose between this loyalty and your duty as a Long Patrol captain. Promise me, that if that time comes, you will choose the duty!"

Aldwin took a step back. He tried to find his saber for a second, then remembered that, of course, hares usually don't wear weapons at feasts, and used his empty cup to imitate a military salute. "Does my Lady even need to ask? I, my mind, heart and blade, are yours to command, come what may!"

"They are. I trust you to remember that, if the time comes. But for now," Violet smiled. "Let us talk of this no more and enjoy our little feast."


	7. Schemes

**6. Schemes.**

Among the things that helped Ubel Fireeyes to gain and maintain the reputation of the Seer among Seers were his perceptiveness and sharp senses. In particular, his hearing was uncanny. And this time too, he heard that something descends into his dungeon under the tower of the Castle Seacrag, when that beast was still at the upper part of the stairs. The beast was alone, so it was not hard for Ubel to deduce that a messenger is sent for him, probably by Kunas himself. The King nowadays almost always had Captain Yellowfang follow him, when leaving his chambers, and his step was far heavier too. Other beasts didn't dare to visit Ubel's lair, unless commanded.

And for good reasons. Even before Ubel, this was a dismal and frightening collection of low-ceilinged underground rooms, which often served as a prison, and sometimes as a torture chamber to various lords of the castle. Now it became far worse. Grisly trophies, decorating the walls, even more terrifying in uneven, flickering red light of torches and lamps; light so dim, that corners of every room drowned in shadows and normal beasts were forced to strain their eyes; instruments of pain intermixed with bizarre amulets and fetishes; air thick with smoke and befouled by strange, sour scent – that already was enough to unnerve even callous vermin soldiers. And the owner of this dark pit was not a beast whom most of them were eager to meet, of course. But there was something else too. Or at least nearly everybeast believed there was. Many of those who went down to the Seer's lair because of one task or another, swore later, that it was an unearthly place, where they felt freezing even in the heat of midsummer, being watched from every shadow, or being touched by something akin to invisible cobwebs. And the slave that the albino ferret once picked as his personal servant, to help him with cleaning and other menial jobs, the most broken, listless and mechanically obedient mousemaid in the castle, jumped from the highest wall onto the rocks below after less than two moons. A few beasts insisted that it all was just imaginations running wild and mundane cruelty. Most were convinced that Ubel's dungeon is the doorstep of Hellgates itself.

So it was not surprising, that the messenger's paw was uncertain when knocking on the dungeon's door. Ubel, of course, could have opened the door before the messenger even reached it, but the albino ferret was not keen on revealing how good his senses were.

"Who needs me?" he asked after opening the door and finding a female weasel soldier on the doorstep.

The weasel bowed nervously: "The Great King summons you, master. He commanded you to come right away."

Ubel paused for a second before answering. The day was still fresh, and this early in the morning Kunas was usually asleep, or trying to alleviate his hangover from yesterday by swilling down more ale and wine. What this unexpected summon could mean? Did the King finally remembered Ubel's risky promise clearly enough?

Regardless of his guesses, refusing the King was not an option. So he simply answered: "I'm coming."

Somewhat contrary to these words, the albino ferret spend half a minute, picking his foxhide cloak and belt, from which many pouches with tools of his trade hanged, as did the only weapon he normally carried – a thin, needle-pointed dagger. He had an ulterior motive for not rushing too much, beyond keeping appropriate dignity – something was intriguing about the weasel's reactions, and while pretending to pay no attention to her, he was watching her with at least one eye as he dressed, missing nothing. No doubt – while obviously scared, this soldier was also morbidly fascinated, trying to steal a look of curiosity at the ghastly scenery and Ubel himself, whenever she thought the albino ferret is not seeing her. Ubel made a mental note to learn more about this one. A beast not scared out of her wits by his presence and his workplace had the potential to be either dangerous or useful. But that could wait for the next day. Unlike the King.

When Ubel walked into the King's chamber, he realized instantly that things are as bad as he feared. Kunas looked disheveled, but sober. Ubel preferred to see his lord drunk. While Kunas was an ill-tempered drunkard, when sober he now was no less prone to rages, but considerably harder to fool. The King, by nature, had capable mind, and despite his best attempts to drown it in wine, it still surfaced occasionally. All four captains of the King's army were in the chamber too. Yellowfang was standing besides the King's wooden throne, as usual. Rugger the Black was slouching in a large chair, trimming his claws with a small dagger, and looking very bored. Eikeru Manybattles, the large black female rat, bearing marks of numerous weapons and fangs on her hide, was at the table, gnawing on a roasted seagull leg. And Ulakhai Stonestrength was here too, pacing back and forth across the chamber. While Yellowang and Rugger weren't your typical vermin officers by any measure, it was Ulakhai who was the most extraordinary captain among the four. A beast of a mysterious breed, from a faraway land, unknown even to searats, he most resembled a weasel, but no weasels in the known world had such thick ochre fur, such long, thick tail, or such mighty stature as him! And Kunas' oldest surviving offspring, Kopek, was present as well, although in what obviously was supposed to be a council he was about as useful or important as Yellowfang – while physically almost as big as his mighty father, he was not blessed with much in the way of talent or valor.

Ubel did not need to be a genius to see that being the last beast invited on the council meant disfavor. The last couple of season Kunas usually just commanded him, Ubel, to gather captains, whenever he wanted to talk or carouse with them. On the other paw, if he wasn't immediately seized by guards that probably meant the King just wanted to scare him. So Ubel bowed deeply, and announced:

"My King, I, Ubel, am here to serve you on your council as always."

"Oh, I'm so sure you are," responded Kunas scornfully. After denying himself the pleasant haze of intoxication, he hated the world in general, and now Ubel was the focal point of his spite. "So, my faithful Seer, I seem to remember that you offered your own head, if you fail to deliver me that of the Ghost before the first snow. Now tell us all, what plan you surely have to save your neck from meeting my axe!"

Ubel smiled inwardly. He was preparing for exactly this, of course, and, thanks Vulpuz, the King didn't start getting the same suspicions about his promise that Rugger did. Kunas, perhaps, got too used to his obedience. After all, they were together since the times when they were young, and the pine marten brothers, Kunas and Mirgas, just only started their own tiny gang of raiders. Since they first met, Kunas commanded and Ubel advised, Kunas led and Ubel followed, inseparably like a shadow. Now that long history of loyalty played into Ubel's paw.

"Of course, Your Ferocity. I must admit, that my humble plan is not anything we haven't tried before, for if I could invent a better plan to catch Ewalt the Ghost, and let you, oh Great Slayer, sleep at night without any more worries, I'd propose it sooner. But now I have omens, that tell me – we will succeed this time. Mayhaps those mercenaries managed to wound Ewalt and make him an easier quarry. So that's what we should do…"

As Ubel finished his explanations the king clasped his paws before himself, eyeing him skeptically. The pine marten looked from one of his captains to another, before barking: "Rugger! What do you think of this "plan"?"

Invisibly to all, Ubel's heart sped up a bit. His hold on Rugger was very tenuous, after all, and a mere momentary whim could make the half-crazed black fox turn on him.

But Rugger just shrugged, not even changing his pose: "You know me, and you know I always said that this pasty charlatan here just fools you all with his "omens", and "visions" and "sorceries". But why not try? Ewalt will not catch himself if we just sit on our tails in the castle. Maybe his luck is going to run out this time."

Kunas listened to the black fox, disregarding his insolent manners, then looked slowly around the chamber, still undecided, clearly waiting if any of the other captains has something to add.

At that moment Kopek, who sat besides his father's wooden throne, trying to look regal, as befitting a heir apparent, spoke: "This is just grasping at straws! Omens or no omens, only an addle-brain can comb the woods for the Ghost again, after we failed so many times. Why should I command this stupid, pointless hunt, father?"

"Why?!" snarled Kunas, and the pine marten's face was twisted with such rage, when he turned to his son, that Kopek immediately swallowed his tongue. "You lice-ridden coward! Fate itself promises to send my greatest foe into your paws, great glory awaits you, and you get weak in the knees? You will do as Ubel says, you will lead the hunt, or I'll flay your fur off your back myself! Hellsteeth and worms, why grave took so many of my kin and spawn, and left me you?!"

The captains barely held their chuckles, or, in case of Rugger, not even tried to. No one of them liked Kopek. Ubel remained unperturbed outwardly, but inside of his mind he was beaming with glee. Truly, fates favored him today. It was no secret that Kopek was not the bravest of beasts, and King Kunas instantly figured out that he is simply afraid to go after the dreaded Ghost. Kopek also clearly was not the smartest, else he would have realized that his father lives in fear of the Ghost himself, and will lash out at anyone who shows the same fear openly, particularly when he had even a glimmer of hope of finally bringing the warrior mouse down. And now it was a given that the King will accept Ubel's plan – by speaking at the wrong moment Kopek ensured what he wanted to prevent!

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Across the ground covered by fallen leaves, Ewalt still moved in practically perfect silence, without a slightest rustle, like a ghost we was believed to be by superstitious vermin. And seeing him was not much easier than hearing him, for he wove his way from one good hiding spot among trees and undergrowth to another with practiced ease. His own eyes and ears, meanwhile, missed little.

However, even he couldn't spot anything suspicious around the rat he tailed. There weren't any hidden assassins following him, no spies or trackers watching his path. Unless they were even better at sneaking than Ewalt, and Ewalt had yet to meet anybeast who was. No armed party appeared to meet the rat either. He was meandering around the forest, seemingly searching for mushrooms and whatever other grub could be found in this time of the season, just like his excuse for being here in the thicket was. Late in the day, when he turned back towards the castle, Ewalt decided that it is the time to leave him be. All seemed to be going according to Marroch's plan.

Ewalt could move fast through the forest too, when he wanted. And he caught up with Marroch before the sun sank below the horizon completely. The ferret sat next to a small campfire, that produced little smoke, cooking his rather scant supper. Ewalt smiled inwardly, when Marroch completely failed to notice his approach. But Ewalt also had to admit, that while the ferret warlord was a pretty poor scout, he excelled at disguise. Ewalt himself probably would not suspect that this ferret – dirty, crooked, limping around with a stick, garbed in shapeless rags, with shaking paws and a bad eye, which refused to open – was Marroch, without examining him up close. To patrols and foragers of Kunas's army, that could be encountered in these parts, he was just your usual old vagabond. Many vermin tribes chased away those beasts who were too old and infirm to fight properly, and it was widely considered bad luck to kill one of those walking deadbeasts, or even talk to one of them. So Marroch couldn't choose a better appearance to avoid being bothered.

Ewalt was tempted hard to try and scare the ferret, by appearing right behind his back, even though he knew that will be petty, rather than practical. But instead he just walked into the opening, where Marroch could see him: "Hey, how's the food?"

Marroch did not move, but his fake old beast's mannerisms disappeared the instant Ewalt revealed himself: "No better than this morning. How's my spy?"

Ewalt walked to the small fire, sat on the other side of it from Marroch, and picked one of the small twigs, on which the ferret was roasting girolles to supplement their meager travel rations of nuts and dried fish, before saying: "All is clear. As far as I can say. And what news he brought you?"

Marroch answered dispassionately: "Kunas plans a big sweep of the woods on the next full moon. To smoke out me, surely, to catch you, if he can, and to round up everyone else, whom he might have missed. Most of his army will go, his son and most of his captains too. This is exactly the chance I hoped for, we won't even need to provoke him. If we can get past the castle walls, there will be just threescore of his personal guard and one scabby cat between us and Kunas."

Ewalt took his time, chewing on a chestnut and thinking, before finally speaking: "I don't like this. I don't trust traitors.

You don't trust him yourself. You can't be sure your pet rat is not ratting you out to Kunas."

"Is there any of our kind, whom you trust?" asked Marroch, sounding colder than usual, and when Ewalt just shrugged, continued: "Thought so. And I'll tell you again: don't hold me for a fool. I considered every possibility, sending you to watch him was just in case. What Kunas stands to gain from playing such games, instead of just sending his trackers to catch me today, knowing where I am? Besides, who do you think told me, that Kunas hired the best trackers this side of the ocean to catch you, and in what direction they went? Yozash, this very spy. Kunas would never order him to do that – he hates you more than anything. If some other beast in the castle, who wants Kunas dead, is behind this, well, what he's going to do when I take the castle and control the bay? The main army will be outside of the walls. And once Kunas is done for, his captains probably will be at each other's throats within a day, rather than fighting me."

"That's if your force is enough to take the castle."

"It will be more than enough, if you and Rowanbloom do your next job. So start putting your mind to that and stop doubting my plan at every turn. You swore to follow me as a warrior who follows his warlord, until our revenge is complete. Act like it."

"Should I scratch your back or lick dirt off your footpaws too?" asked Ewalt venomously. "I'll do what you command, no worries, but what sort of a warlord prefers to command unthinking nitwits?"

Marroch remained unperturbed, at least visibly. "If you want me to ask your advice, try offering some. Any fool can grumble and doubt."

This rebuke gave Ewalt pause. Mostly because it was true.

"Aye." The mouse paused for a few seconds to chew. "I'm going to sleep first. Wake me up at midnight, will take the second watch."

The ferret did not disagree, so Ewalt was fast asleep before Marroch even finished his part of the meal. The ferret envied that a bit. He still remained nervous in Ewalt's company. He hid it well, but he couldn't fool his own mind, and so it took him a long time to drift into slumber with Ewalt watching over him. Either the mouse warrior was just so much braver, or, compared to his many lonely nights as a hunted beast in the woods, company of any ally seemed safe, however untrustworthy that ally was.

"Or maybe he underestimates just how untrustworthy I am," concluded Marroch in his thoughts.


	8. Forces

_**Author's Notes:** First of all, thanks for everyone who left their reviews! Hopefully, there will be more of them, and particularly criticial reviews (I rather doubt that my writing is perfect as it is), in the future._

_Second, you might notice that I'm using names from various minor canonical Redwall characters for a few of the characters in my fic. This is intentional. Well, except for Rowanbloom. I completely missed, that one of own characters was named that (if anyone wanders, the daugher of Gorath and Salixa, mentioned at the very epilogue to Eulalia! - not exactly the easiest character to remember)._

_And finally, for those who expressed hopes that this fic will not be discontinued, be at ease. I only started writing after planning the general outline of the whole story and by the time I started posting chapters, the whole first part was planned in detail and largely written down. So I'm pretty confident about my ability to not let it die. My release schedule, however, is bound to become sparcer for a time after about 3 more chapters, when said first part ends. From the experience of writing it, I know that my initial story ideas often aren't the best, and that I sometimes need to go pretty far back to rewrite my drafts. But for now, action just starts picking up pace after all the talky plot setup chapters... _

**7. Forces.**

Sungesh Splintclaw, one of the many weasels in the King Kunas' army was an experienced scout, talented at tracking and archery. Many of the other vermin, set to patrol the northern coast, considered their assignment about as meaningful, as claw-biting. After all, otters of the Starscatter Rocks weren't foolish enough to venture inland, where they would be vastly outnumbered by foes. And although the vermin force had some boats, they, in turn, weren't foolish enough to attempt fighting otters on water – Kunas himself tried it once, with the bulk of his horde, and found that his beasts were inept at boat combat, at the cost of a couple scores of soldiers. So to most vermin it was just terminally boring coastwatching, punctuated with inconsequential clashes whenever the otters tried to ambush a patrol. To Sungesh it was an opportunity to hunt. Let the fools think, that the otters only appear on the mainland to fight! Sungesh was certain, that their foragers visit the coast on darker nights, to gather whatever food they could. So, on this night, when the low rainclouds covered the thin sliver of the freshly waxing moon, he took Migroo and Flogg, two sharp and agile stoat brothers, who looked up to him, and went out to hunt.

Sungesh laid his ambush on a hummock overlooking a small stream, which, he was sure, otters used for their forays inland, where it ran into the sea. Even in the dark of the night he would be able to see a boat on the water, while himself remaining safely hidden in the wilting grass. And now the three vermin waited patiently.

Their patience was rewarded in the quietest hour of the night, when the sky already began to brighten slightly. Just as hoped, a longboat was quietly gliding down to the sea, carried by softly murmuring waters. Sungesh could even discern three or four figures moving the oars. He gently tapped one of the brothers, then another. The stoats, not as experienced as him, got drowsy, after hours of inaction, but at least they had what it took to come to their senses swiftly and without making noise. Sungesh took a look around, before drawing an arrow from his quiver – life taught him long ago that before concentrating on your prey it is wise to check one extra time whether you are being hunted yourself. But the coast seemed clear, as far as he could see in the gloom. The three vermin silently edged closer to the stream, picking good positions to shoot. The slowly moving boat had to come within less than half of a stone's throw from them, and even in the dark they were certain to hit their marks. Rewards and praise for coming back to the camp with otters' heads were as good as theirs!

A muffled sound of a very brief scuffle from the left, where Flogg crouched, and immediately, a suffocated wheeze, as if a beast tried to cry out in pain, but could not find enough breath, were the first things that alerted Sungesh of danger. The weasel's warrior reflexes did not fail him. He turned in that direction with the speed of lightning, drawing his bowstring with the same movement. His eyes discerned a moving darker blot in the darkness of pre-dawn hour, right over Flogg's slumping body. Just as a spear whooshed through the air, almost touching his whiskers, and piercing Migroo, he let his shaft loose. Sungesh could have sworn his aim was true, but the foe was still coming! Dropping the bow, the weasel reached for his cutlass. He yanked the blade out of the scabbard and swung it, aiming at the enemy more by guess than by eye. Then something cold struck his chest. Sungesh tried to yell a battlecry, and slash again but blood came out of his mouth instead of sounds, and his paw suddenly grew heavy as lead. Then, everything went even darker than the night.

Rowanbloom was not very good at navigating the night forest. Truth to be told, she was not very good at navigating any forests at all, she was raised in Redwall, and survival in wilderness was not the top priority in an Abbey sister's education. And how could she apply any skills she might have had, when seeing her own paws was difficult? Ewalt said, that the night was when they were most likely to meet the otters of the Starscatter Rocks, and least likely to run into a vermin patrol. After travelling across the island with him, she had no reason to doubt his judgment in such matters – even burdened with her, Ewalt slipped through the vermin-ruled land like a shadow, always knowing some hidden trailway that allowed them to bypass danger. Here, on the coast, he said, the danger was higher than right next to Castle Seacrag, because Kunas' soldiers actively patrolled it, instead of just going about their businesses, so, as long as they were travelling together, it was more prudent to move by night, and hide by day. But no amount of reasoning could make sitting alone in the dark, after the warrior mouse suddenly whispered to her to be silent and wait, any easier. Before they left Marroch's camp, she promised that on the road she will obey Ewalt's commands without question, and this promise was the only thing that held her still.

"It's safe now." Rowanbloom only realized that Ewalt is back after hearing his voice. "And I've found the otters. Let's go."

The shore was not far away. Against the backdrop of horizon, that slowly turned from black to lead-grey, as the first rays of the yet-invisible sun tried to pierce the clouds, even Rowanbloom could clearly discern a longboat on the shore, and four long-bodied beasts, clearly the otters Ewalt was talked about, in it.

"Quicker, here!" a female voice called out. No later than the two rodents were in the boat, the large otter sitting at the aft end shoved it off the rocky beach and the small crew of four started rowing, to swiftly put some distance between them and dangers of the hostile shore.

"I need your help." Ewalt turned to Rowanbloom and only now she saw that the whole right side of his head was dark from blood. "A weasel there was good with the bow, nicked my ear."

"Nicked" was a considerable understatement. But Rowabloom saw far worse injuries in her time on Ergaph, and, even with the improvised kit of healing instruments, remedies and herbs she gathered after her old, Redwall-made one was stolen by Kunas' soldiers, she could treat such wound in her sleep. "Sit down and hold still, unless you want to have two ears on your right."

Ewalt obeyed, and made neither sound nor movement, while the squirrel cleaned his wound, and then, seeing that there is enough illumination already, started stitching the ear back.

The otters were impressed. The one sitting and rowing at the fore end, a lithe, simple-dressed female, looking barely past the age when an otter could be considered a warrior, but already marked by a huge, jagged battlescar crossing her brow, commented: "They said truth that Ewalt the Ghost is made of cold steel, that I see. And ye, little bushtail, is pretty good too, doing such a fine work on a wobbling boat in morning halflight."

Ewalt did not answer, until Rowanbloom had finished her work.

"Steel doesn't bleed, Selvathy. And this "little bushtail" is named Rowanbloom, remember her name, for she's now gonna be the healer for you lot."

"Rowanbloom, eh? Nice name, nice to know ye. Freshly freed from vermin slavery, I guess?"

The squirrel bowed, as best as she could in a moving boat. "Sort of. I'm pleased to meet you too, Selvathy. Sorry, I had no time to introduce myself properly."

"Aren't ye a polite one, eh?" Selvathy laughed. "Are ye here just to deliver her to safety, Ewalt, or do ye have something else on yer mind, going to our Rocks?"

"And you, aren't you a smart one? Yes, I have something very important to tell Ilmo Wavedog."

ХХХХХХХХХХХХХХХХХХХХХХХХХХХХХХХХХХ

Starscatter Rocks were little more than a bunch of grayish-white sea-cliffs, scattered in total disorder in the dark sea off the northern shore of Ergaph, hence the name. Few things dared to live on those weather-beaten, inhospitable pieces of stone, surrounded by treacherous waters, with fast currents and many sharp submerged rocks.

Otters, of course, knew these waters as their palms, including seaways leading to a small cove between two of the largest cliffs, the only place on Starscatter Rocks somewhat protected from wind and storm. In better times, just a handful of others lived here, the rest preferring to settle on Ergaph proper. Now hastily-erected shacks and tents covered almost every relatively flat spot on the stone. Otters, those too young, too old or too maimed to be fishing out in the sea, were seen here and there, cooking, mending fishing nets, repairing boats and weapons.

This scenery was rather far from Ewalt' mind, as he sat on the aft of _Wavecrest_, the beautiful two-mast schooner, that otters, by skill or sheer luck, managed to guide here through very confined and very dangerous waters. He was much more concerned with one particular otter.

Ilmo Wavedog, the chieftain of the Starscatter otters and the captain of _Wavecrest_, changed for the worse, since Ewalt last saw him. He still was a burly, grizzled beast, still strong and stout, despite his age, still dressed flamboyantly, like a corsair, with red sash, into which his long curved blade was tucked, bright green waistcoat with gold embroidery and double necklace of small pearls. But now, when they were sitting on seaweed pillows at the opposite sides of a low table, Ewalt did not miss that he lost some weight, and gained tired, haunted look in place of it.

But however hard life treated Ilmo Wavedog, he retained his old composure. So, after hearing Ewalt's message, he remained as cordial, as he always was with his guests:

"Lemme see if I heard ye right, matey." As Ilmo spoke those words, another otter, an angry-looking large young male, who sat rightward of him, tried to rise and probably say something very unflattering about Ewalt, but Ilmo brook no interference and tapped him on the shoulder, almost playfully, but with such strength that the deck planks groaned for a second and the younger otter winced from pain.

"Douse yer sails, Torbit, let yer elders speak first. So, Ewalt, lemme see, if I heard ye right. Ye got yer tail saved by that Whiteveir cur, and he swayed ye to fight for him, by hook or by crook, and now ye askin' me to fight alongside his vermin, with whatever remains of me otters. Ye're not lacking nerve, I say! Now, if only ye had as much sense! Do ye really think yer Marroch could be trusted?"

"In two things," answered Ewalt levelly. "To put fighting Kunas above anything, and to not turn on us until Kunas is dead and he thinks his odds are good. I'm not asking to rely on his honor, just on his hatred and wits. Speaking about the odds, if I'm not blind, your camp is sized for about twoscore of families, and there should be a couple more, scattered here and there. Even without those too old or too young, you should have more fighting beasts than Marroch, to safeguard themselves from any double-dealing."

"Hmhmhm," Ilmo didn't seem to be impressed by Ewalt's logic. "Ye know, matey, I recon you always were the smart one among yer kin, ever since ye were just a mouseling. Always tough-minded and cool-headed, always with a plan, even with bloody revenge on yer mind thinkin' of a way out, when another beast would just scream an' charge. Ye're not a beast to be easily tricked, but how me and me crew can be sure ye aren't behind that ferret cause ye're seeing the same temper in him. How can we be sure ye aren't wrong in that? If vermin stabbed our kind only when sure of odds, livin' will be much easier, methinks!"

Torbit looked jubilant, seeing that the chieftain was about to reject Ewalt's offer. Selvathy, the last member of the small otter council, kept the look of indifference, that she wore ever since the conversation began. From them Ewalt could not expect any help in swaying Ilmo's opinion, and for a moment he was at loss for words.

But then Rowanbloom, who also sat and listened silently up until that point, spoke:

"You are smart and observant, Ilmo Wavedog, truly an equal of great Skippers of old stories. Surely you won't refuse to hear a word from a squirrel who knows more of those stories, than anybody here, won't you?"

"Go on, missy," Ilmo turned to her.

"Your decision to reject Marroch's offer of alliance is very wise, no doubt about that." As Ewalt stared at his companion in disbelief, his face betraying emotion for the first time this day, Rowanbloom continued. "Why risk betrayal and losing all of your lives by allying with old enemies and their scheming leader? You have a seagoing ship, after all, so your backs are not truly against the wall – if the worst comes to the worst, you can escape by sea to some other place, maybe to the Green Isle, where your distant relatives live, or the High North Coast, where otters rule strong. And that risk cannot even win you much – even if Kunas dies tomorrow, Ergaph is already overran by vermin, so you'll just have four smaller warlords to deal with, instead of one. Weighting danger against possible gain for your holt, you've chosen prudently."

"But!" The squirrel made a pause and pointed her index claw at Ilmo, looking the otter, who towered over her even when sitting, straight in the eyes. "One thing I hoped to never see in my life, is a day, when goodbeasts choose what is prudent over what is right! If you don't care about all the woodlanders who will end up in chains or common graves if Kunas is allowed to reign free, then how about your own pride? Your revenge for blood spilled, for being chased to those rocks, like spanked cubs?"

Torbit looked like he was ready to tear Rowanbloom apart with his bare fangs, but Ilmo raised his paw, warning him to remain properly silent and still. Then the old chieftain spoke, each word dropping like a stone: "Ain't ye a bold one, missy, to speak to me like that on me own ship? Now tell me one thing: what in the seven seas makes ye think, that allyin' with thrice-cursed vermin scum is "right"?"

"I know many stories of the past, and I could have told you quite a number of famous goodbeasts being helped by vermin, off the top of my head. But if all of Ewalt's reasoning wasn't convincing enough to you, of what use my tales will be? Decide what is right yourself, Ilmo Wavedog. I will only say one more thing – if Ewalt will have to go back to Marroch without your otters, I'm going with him."

"Back to slavery?" barked Ilmo incredulously.

"Back to fighting, whatever way I can!"

That was too much for Torbit, warnings or not. "Enough, treerat! Are ye saying, we're cowards who run from the fight?!"

Ewalt tensed, like a drawn bowstring, ready to jump forward. Even a woodlander, even an unarmed female, would not be safe, after confirming explicitly that she meant the worst possible insult, the accusation of cowardice! But Ilmo suddenly laughed uproariously, and patted Torbit on the back, knocking all breath out of him:

"And who would we be, if we pass this chance, me bucko? Well, missy, it'd be a bloody shame to let such a brave little beast as ye rot in vermin paws! And ye, Ewalt, start honing yer sword! Let's go and set fire to Kunas' scurvy tail together with ye and that ferret laddie!"


	9. The Seacrag Castle

**_Author's notes:_** _My chapters are multiplying... Chapter 8 was supposed to cover far more, but as it ended up huge, I've decided to split it. I wonder if I'm falling into the trap of writing extraneous scenes._

**8. The Seacrag Castle.**

In his assessment of Ewalt's abilities, Marroch was dead wrong on one point. He assumed that Ewalt managed to sneak into the Seacrag Castle, on the night Mirgas died, by scaling its walls at night. Such feat that was more than challenging even for a squirrel, thanks to the walls' solid construction – few chinks and gaps even after so many seasons – and their overhanging battlements, but seemingly believable for the legendary Ghost.

Now, hanging on the wall by his claws, trying to gather strength for the very risky attempt to pull himself up and over the said battlement, battered by biting wind, straining his eyes to see anything, Ewalt had to reconsider the wisdom of not telling the ferret what actually happened. Sure, he actually was a good climber, and over the last couple of seasons he contemplated infiltrating the castle in the very way he was doing now, even trained for this by climbing sheer cliffs. But on that night he actually got inside by pretending to be a slave who brought more wine from the bay to the guard at the small wall door on the seaside. It was a pure gamble, born by a desperate mind, that succeeded because sentries left on the wall got drunk… and the stoat, left on the guard duty below, didn't, and opened the door as soon as Ewalt promised to leave a bottle for him. He was pretty much a runt, probably the lowliest of Kunas' grunts…

Ewalt pushed the unwanted thoughts out his head, and concentrated on climbing. The guard pacing across the southern wall, moved away now, and it was the time for another act, fit only for a desperate creature. He already drove one of his daggers in a small gap between stones of the battlement. But he had to do it from a very, very unwieldy angle. Now he had to test whether he managed to push it far enough in to hang on it from a second, while his other paw tries to grasp edge of an arrow slit. Without hesitation, Ewalt bent backwards, grabbed the dagger handle, and let the wall go!

About ten seconds later – and after getting ten seasons older, or so he felt, he sat in the arrow slit, trying to catch his breath without making any noise. The guard was now coming back, and rapidly. Ewalt had no idea, how that poor excuse of a sentry managed to not hear steel striking stone a bit earlier, when he was trying to turn his dagger into a pawhold. Probably sounds of the wind and waves – the strong western wind whistled over the battlements since dusk, sometimes barely fanning the beasts unlucky enough to be outside, sometimes lashing unpredictably and with savage strength – muffled the clang. But now the guard finally heard something, maybe just enough sound to make him want to check. But not enough to raise alarm immediately, as he should have done.

A half-minute later, Ewalt was wiping his sword on the sentry's fur. A stoat too, by coincidence… This one, though, died almost instantly, cleanly, even, if such word can be applied to something as messy, as violent death. Ewalt took a deep breath. There should be more guards. The mouse warrior had a general idea of their placement in the castle, information he obtained over the seasons from overheard conversations and captured soldiers. Somebeast usually still was posted at the wall door – to keep a stray slave from getting out, rather than to possibly let anyone in, of course – and at least a half-dozen stood watch at the main gate in the northern wall. And a couple on the top of the central tower. Those were the biggest trouble of all on a night like this one, when the moon was almost full, and sometimes looked down through breaks in mountainous masses of clouds, driven swiftly by the wind. Not only the tower was likely even harder to climb than the walls, but with at least two sentries on a small platform, Ewalt had no hope to dispose of them quietly, unless, by sheer luck, they were asleep. That's what stopped his personal assassination plans before.

However, observers on the tower had a big blind spot, useless for a lone assassin, but significant now. They could easily notice ships approaching from the open sea, but the high cliff, on which the Seacrag Castle was perched, and its high wall, and the high trees growing on the steep bluff into which the cliff turned to the north of the castle, were hiding from their view a bunch of boats, that moved alongside the rocky coastline and into the bay, braving the dangerous weather.

Speaking of that… Ewalt hauled the hapless stoat's carcass upward, and placed it in an arrow slit, so that any sentry from above, accidentally looking at the southern wall, when the moon appears again, could only see a beast appearing to be peering at something in the sea. Then the mouse slinked to the stairway, leading below

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Marroch had to admit, that without the help of otters, his plan would be practically impossible from the beginning. If not for their boats, his small band hardly could hope to cleanly escape the sweep, get to the castle without running into trouble on the way, and approach it from the least watched direction. But then again, one of the reasons he tried so hard to recruit Ewalt was getting a beast who could secure their assistance.

At first, though, he was unpleasantly surprised, when Ilmo Wavedog brought over twoscore beasts with him. Marroch's own band, even after joining with a few more rogue vermin, was only a score and a half, and unlike his motley crew, all otters looked like fierce warriors. He had to adjust his initial plans. Given the difference in strength, the otters would not be surprised, if he leaves the castle to them – and lets them face the wrath of Kunas' captains, while he would be out in the woods, building a new horde.

But that would be later. Now both forces followed Marroch up the narrow rocky path, ascending from the mouth of the bay to the southern wall. He donned his full battle garb tonight – a heavy chainmail with a cowl, that covered him from pate to knees, a sturdy round shield of wood and iron, a straight sword at his hip and a light mace in his paw. A long crimson cloak, held in place by a heavy golden clasp, the treasure of his family, worn only on most important occasions, completed his appearance – now the dark ferret looked a born warlord! Of the six dozens beasts walking in a double line behind him, only Kethra and Suran Longspear had equally fine arms and armor. The rest of the vermin were lucky if they had a shield of solid wood, not bark, and a thick quilted jacket for protection, while their finest blades were short chopping cutlasses. Otters of the Starscatter tribe had no armor and only small round shields – armed with short spears, double-pointed javelins, slings, and daggers, they were fearsome at range, but had little more than their bravery to protect them in paw-to-paw combat. Marroch had no doubts that Kunas' own guard alone can cut this ill-equipped force to pieces twice over in a fair fight. But then again, being forced to fight fairly indicated a failure of a warlord's cunning.

Of course, success or failure of Marroch's cunning tonight rode on the shoulders of a single mouse. But Marroch was not about to let his face or posture betray his true feelings about this fact, as he strode forward confidently.

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Rowanbloom walked in the very back of the small column. Convincing Ewalt and Ilmo Wavedog to take her into the bloodbath, now about to begin, was not very easy, but she succeeded by pointing out that many wounded may die, if she will be safe and far away from them.

"_Do as you wish," finally said Ewalt, then after a long and heated argument, sounding angry for the first time since she met him. "I'm not a beast who fancies spending his time talking reason into fools in a hurry to die. If you insist on going into battles, find yourself a weapon and start practicing with it, at least."_

"_I doubt if that will really help me to live longer," answered Rowabloom. "Don't real warriors need to practice for many seasons, preferably starting when they are still dibbuns, erm, babes?"_

_The warrior mouse shrugged. "Sure, a beast, like, say, Kethra, will have less trouble gutting a squirrel, who took up the sword just this season, than picking her teeth. Most of the vermin are not such trained slayers. Find yourself a weapon." _

Despite the advice, the squirrel still carried nothing deadlier than a sharp knife, just like on the very day she walked out of the gates of Redwall…

"Take this," a familiar voice, now barely above a whisper, shook Rowabloom out of her memories. Selvathy was right next to her, holding out a short spear, one of the two she carried. "Are you daft, going to battle unarmed?"

"But you know, I'm a healer, not a…"

"No "buts". When arrows start flyin', don't expect yer tail be watched by others all the time, just because it is bushy."

Rowanbloom hesitated for a second, then took the weapon, holding it awkwardly, as if the wooden shaft was covered in splinters. "Thanks, Selvathy."

"Thank me if that saves yer life." The otter smiled. "Now, look – the door! It's open!"

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"Quick, quiet, here!" hissed Marroch, pointing with the mace. Beasts streamed inside the castle through the opened walldoor, beyond the cooling body of the rat, who stood watch here a couple minutes ago. Ewalt hadn't failed. But there was still one last big obstacle in the way…

"Luggun! Take your archers to the gates, and don't you dare be seen, until we begin at the tower. Kethra, lead the rest to the right. Ilmo! Gather your otters to the left. Be ready to rush the door as soon as it opens!"

Ilmo looked skeptical, but just nodded, testing sharpness of his saber with a claw, then walked away, to lead his beasts into the position. Luggun and his small team, tasked with capturing the main gates, were already gone. Kethra lingered a bit more, looking uncertain.

"Do your part." For a moment, Marroch's voice turned even colder than usual. "I know, how to do mine."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A couple of minutes earlier, just when Ewalt was opening the walldoor for the unlikely allies, King Kunas woke up, sweating and gasping for air. Nightmares visited him often those nights, nightmares of fire and smoke, and burning flesh, and the burning shadow, with eyes like two angry blue stars, drawing ever closer to him. That was one of the reasons, he hit the bottle so hard over the last several seasons – at least in booze-induced stupor he usually could sleep dreamlessly. This evening, however, he drank little... was he trying to catch some elusive thought, something he overlooked? The pine marten cursed through clenched teeth. He couldn't remember now. Was it something about Ubel? The bloody Seer and his promises. How he was so confident about catching Ewalt if all of his arts couldn't even let his King sleep well?

But the thought was quickly lost, driven away by the simple desire for something to drink, even simple water, if need be. Thankfully, a jug clearly filled with something liquid – ale, as the King found immediately – was not far away, on the table besides his large bed. The pine marten took a few big gulps, and sat back, trying to sort out the jumbled contents of his mind. He suspected his Seer of something, didn't he? But that was preposterous. Ubel succeeded too well in inspiring fear. He helped in that, more than once giving unduly ambitious – and, not accidentally, popular – soldiers to Ubel, when the latter begged for more sacrifices. Even Rugger, that madbeast, despised the albino ferret. Ubel's head would part with the shoulders in a blink, if not for the King's protection. Rugger was equally hated, and however dangerous the black fox was, nobeast could fight off the need to sleep. Ulakhai was a suspicious, dour outsider, Eikeru was smart and well-liked, despite her savage exterior, but lacked in fighting skill and sheer strength next to every other captain. No, no, no, from treachery he was safe. Then what it was? What worried him? The Ghost?

The pine marten glanced warily about. But the windows were still too narrow for a beast to crawl through, and Yellowfang still snored just beyond the heavy door. Ubel swore that the accursed mouse was a creature of flesh and blood. Ubel also swore that he was safe now. Kunas spat on the floor. Maybe he was just swift to imagine things because of the nightmare. Should he get back to bed? His "mate", Marda, who was sleeping next to him, woke up, when he moved suddenly, but still pretended to be asleep, in hope he won't notice her, he could tell that from her breath and scent. Kunas felt a hot prickle of anger…

…Wait. Now Kunas also heard something else. The sound of a heavy paw knocking on wood, and a voice he couldn't recognize from down below... What was going on? Stepping softly, he moved to the closest tower window.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"So, ye see, scorechieftain Sweltar needs to see that! Or, cough, anybeast, cough, wheeze, I don't care! A ship, I swear, I've seen a ship. Argh, cough. Go yerself and take a look, if ye don't believe me!" Marroch masterfully faked a gruff voice, made almost unrecognizable by freshly caught cold. Thank fates, the hapless wallguard apparently sounded close enough, when he was still alive!

"Me swears, if that's yer eyes playing tricks again, I'll flay yer hide off yer back!" The stoat on the other side of the heavy wooden tower door, who rose to answer Marroch's insistent knock was not normally a dense beast. But anybeast can make a mistake, when she is sleepy. And that stoat made a very bad mistake, pulling the heavy door bolt aside, and starting to open the door, right at the moment, when King Kunas, looking from his window on high, discerned a dark mass of beasts below the tower, and shouted at the top of his lungs: "To arms! Wake up, idiots! To arms! Enemy in the castle!"

Just for a fraction of a second, the thunderous cry befuddled the stoat. And in that brief moment Marroch struck.


	10. Revenge

**9. Revenge.**

Ewalt the Ghost had seen many terrible battles and mind-numbing evil deeds, had slain more beasts, than he wanted to remember. Yet the memory of what happened in the tower of the Seacrag Castle, even hazy, jumbled and unclear, remained among the worst in his head.

King Kunas' guards were doomed from the beginning. Outnumbered and caught by surprise, some died in their beds before getting awake enough to reach for their weapons. Yet their fighting spirit was not the same as that of your average hordebeast. And in this desperate situation, they fought back desperately, with anything they could reach for and even bare paws, slashing, stabbing, throwing, slamming, biting and clawing.

The tower's first two floors were a living nightmare. Cramped quarters, suddenly filled with too many beasts. Darkness on the first floor, where even Ewalt couldn't see beyond two steps. Dancing, uneven light of burning oil from a broken lamp on the second. Screams, snarls, wails, roars, mixing in a horrible cacophony within the small, enclosed space. The acerbic stench of well over a hundred beast in rage, fear and pain, mixing with the nauseating odor of blood and guts.

Through this chaos, Ewalt weaved and squeezed, trying to get up, up where Kunas should be. His spear was lost before he got to the fist stairway, stuck in a stoat, and now the mouse furiously slashed with his short sword. All thoughts about their agreement before the battle – no duels, no chasing personal revenge and trying to claim Kunas' head by himself – have disappeared from his mind, and so did most thoughts of self-preservation.

Fury and blind luck, rather than skill, kept him alive, as he forced his way to the second floor, jumping over an otter and a ferret, who were rolling on the floor, trying to tear out each other's throats. The only thing Ewalt looked for, in the flickering glare of burning oil, was the King. Marroch's crimson cloak flashed ahead, Kethra was here too, slashing her way through the tangle of battlers… and then Ewalt saw.

Kunas' fears were forgotten, now that his blood was boiling with rage. The King just took a moment to grab and pull on a chainmail, and now he descended upon the battle like a swooping raptor, brandishing his battleaxe. Marroch noticed him too late, barely in time to raise his shield. Splinters flew, as Kunas landed a tremendous blow, and Marroch was thrown aside, half-stunned.

Ewalt screeched incoherently, and charged forward. A weasel, the mouse didn't even notice if it was from Marroch's beasts or from the King's guards, stumbled in his way, he threw her aside like she was made of straw. The murderer of his kin was so close, just a few more steps, and one swift stab…

Something slammed him from the right, and the world went black for a second. Then Ewalt found himself crumpled against a wall, body suddenly limp, as if made of dough, no sword in paw. And a huge, snarling cat was descending upon him, claws and teeth bared. The tales said, that in such moments a beast can see all of his life, flashing before his eyes. This didn't happen to Ewalt. All he had is a moment of terrible clarity, when time seemed to slow down just enough for him to realize clearly that he is a deadbeast.

King Kunas was in the middle of the fray, swinging his axe frenziedly, as if in bloodwrath, and, despite all odds, he alone almost turned the tide of battle for a moment, driving foes before him. Griplclaw the weasel, eager for glory, did not back away, but as his hefty warclub arched through the air to crush pine marten's head, it accidentally caught one of Kunas' vermin, spoiling the deadly blow, while the King's axe struck true, splitting Gripclaw's head and neck.

Before Marroch managed to rise, a wild-eyed rat lunged at him, raising a spear. With the speed born of pure reflex, rather than conscious thought, the ferret warlord kicked at the enemy's footpaw, making him stumble and miss, so that his spear only pinned Marroch's cloak, instead of body, to the floor, then grabbed a heavy wooden stool, tumbled nearby, and threw it right at the rat's head with enough force to shatter both.

Just when Ewalt was about to lose his life, a heavy spear pierced the cat's ribcage with a wet crack, throwing him aside from his prey, as the green-cloaked fox, who wielded it, pushed on the spearshaft, driving it deeper. Captain Yellowfang roared, more in rage, than in pain. Suran Longspear snarled.

Spikepelt raised his barbed-tipped spear, but hesitated for half a second, unsure if he wanted to hurl it at Yellowfang or Suran. Then somebeast he didn't even see leapt at him. Thrown flat, the ferret screamed, as burning oil on the floor seared his back. The beast who knocked him down, a fellow ferret, landed right upon his chest, pinning his neck to the floor with one paw, raising a dagger for a fatal blow with the other.

Kethra charged Kunas just the King freed the axe from Gripclaw's body, aiming her sword to stab right in the face beneath the chainmail cowl, but the strike wasn't true, and the blade screeched uselessly against the metal rings that protected the pine marten's neck. With no space to swing his weapon, Kunas punched Kethra with his left paw, knocking the ferret warriormaid down.

Most beasts would have been slain immediately by Suran's spear, but the cat was far bigger than most, and, even mortally wounded, clung to life tenaciously. Suran's eyes widened, as one stroke of huge paw broke his weapon in two. Hissing and spitting blood Yellowfang reached for the fox's face, but just a tad too slowly. Faster than eye could see, Suran drew his sword and slashed. Four claws flew away, cut off cleanly. And yet the cat was not finished. Before Suran could swing the sword again or jump away, Yellowang struck with the other paw, catching the fox across his shoulder blade.

Blood showered Spikepelt, as Ilmo Wavedog, who just stepped onto the second floor, beheaded his foe with one swift saber slash. Wailing, the ferret threw the headless body off him, and rolled on the floor, trying to extinguish his burning fur. Ilmo paid no heed to that, rushing to the King with a yell of challenge. Kunas whirled to meet the new foe, but too late – before he had a chance to raise his heavy axe for a good whack, the old skipper was already swinging the bloodied saber. Yet the pine marten had not only strength and fury, but also experience of many battles – he blocked the otter's deadly slash skillfully, so that the deadly blade only left a small notch on his polished axehaft.

Suran's cloak was easily torn by wicked claws, the chainmail beneath it saved the fox from a horrible injury, yet still, the blow spun him around and threw to the floor. But Ewalt was already up. Before Yellowfang had a chance to finish off the fallen fox, the warrior mouse jumped on his back with a dagger, stabbing again, and again, and again, with speed of a mad woodpecker. The cat yowled, unable to tear the smaller creature that was hurting him away with only one good paw, and threw himself against the wall, trying to squash Ewalt with his bulk.

Kunas screamed, as a terrible pain drilled into his knee. A lanky stoat, one of the lowliest beasts from the Marroch's band, perhaps more cunning or luckier than others, found just the right moment to attack the mighty pine marten King from behind. The stoat was only armed with a humble javelin, a mere wooden stick with sharp, fire-hardened tip, but it slid right below Kunas' mailed skirt! The King stumbled, lost his footing, as the maimed footpaw failed him. And then Ilmo's big saber fell down like a lighting striking a tree.

Ewalt didn't saw when the battle ended, because he blacked out briefly again – the next thing he remembered was the big, rusty-furred fox, heaving away the massive carcass, which was smothering him with its weight, suffocating him. For a second the mouse wondered numbly why a fox was helping him.

"Hey, are you wounded?" The fox's voice barely reached Ewalt through ringing in his ears. Now he remembered who this fox was – Suran Longspear. An ally. The battered warrior attempted to rise. He was dizzy, his body felt like after being caught in a rockslide, but it still obeyed him, none of the many pains he felt were paralyzing, and all the blood, staining his fur and clothing, seemingly came from other beasts… well except the blood from the not-so-old wound on his ear, that got torn open again. Focusing his gaze and fighting off queasiness was possible, and that meant the harm likely was not too severe.

"Not… really," slowly answered Ewalt. "Kunas?"

"Very dead," said Suran rather crossly. "Wanted a shot at the mongrel too, eh? Well, at least you helped me to bag this cat brute of a captain…"

Suddenly words froze in Suran's throat. The big vulpine was not used to being scared, it was he who casually invoked fear in others, since the days of being young, and not even fully grown, but now one glance from Ewalt made his fur bristle. The mouse looked verifiably insane, eyes bloodshot, teeth bared, whiskers twitching, breath ragged. Suran said no more, as Ewalt shambled past him, to where the fallen King's carcass was still spread on the floor, so mangled, that it was hard to recognize – when Kunas fell, Marroch's vermin swarmed the once-fearsome pine marten like vultures, hacking and slashing far past the moment the body stopped twitching. A few beasts who were busy ransacking the room backed away cautiously, not sure what to expect. Marroch and Ilmo Wavedog, who were arguing with each other, turned to see, what is going on.

"The battle is over, Ewalt. We won. Now let me see to your wounds." Under normal conditions, the warrior mouse couldn't have missed a beast approaching him from behind. But now he only realized that Rowanbloom is there upon feeling her paw on his shoulder and hearing the words. Ewalt froze for a second, then whirled, knocking the squirrel's paw away. Then he took a step back, and his shoulders slumped, as the maddened grimace slowly disappeared.

"I'm fine," answered the mouse flatly. "Blood is not mine. Go help the others."

Rowanbloom looked at him doubtfully, but now, when the mouse seemed to calm down, she indeed had much worse injuries to tend: "Sure, but you should just sit somewhere, don't move much. You might have broken bones."

Ewalt just nodded and waved her away. A minute latter, just as he found a bed, that wasn't broken or too bloodstained to sit on, another beast approached him.

"Marroch." Ewalt acknowledged the obvious. The dark ferret muzzle and chest were bloodied, the tip of Kunas' axeblade left a gash on his chin, but otherwise the only thing on him that seemed harmed was the crimson cloak.

"Me. I want to say you one thing. Mine… this victory was only seized with your help. If you think that you owe me something for saving your life, now we're even." The warlord spoke loudly, so that everybeast in this room could hear him.

Ewalt just stared back blankly. Then, before Marroch thought of something to add, a loud noise from the stairway to the floors above, louder than moans of the wounded, commanded their attention.

"Look who we found here, chief!" Two vermin soldiers were roughly hauling Marda down the steps. Although the pine marten female was larger than either of them, she slumped in their paws like a doll, too scared to fight. "Ain't that Kunas' own mate? And what we gonna do wit' her?"

"Thunder and fire! What, you ask?" Kethra, who was trying to alleviate the pain from the King's blow, that nearly squashed her right eye, by placing a cold knifeblade against the swell, rose to her paws, and pointed said blade at Marda. "Hold the wench."

Unlike Kethra, Marroch could see most the room, illuminated by the couple of torches, that the victors kindled now. And actually cared to look. He did not miss, that Ilmo and a group of otter warriors, who gathered around him, all suddenly tensed. That even Ewalt clenched his fists.

"Stop!" Barked Marroch, rushing to his sister. "You fools! "Mate", you say? Don't you see that she is just a bed-warmer, hardly more than a slave?"

Looking at Marda, the ferret warlord realized, that he hadn't actually lied right now. The pine marten was young and still could be rightfully called beautiful, but he knew this air of despair and surrender, that he often saw in broken slaves. She hardly struggled even after hearing Kethra's words.

"But." Marroch suddenly remembered something else, a fact that hardly concerned him before. "Kunas had two surviving sons, I believe, Kopek, and this one's little whelp. Find him."

"No!" There were things that could spurn even Marda to action. For a moment, she tried to break free, then Marroch slapped her, without even looking, but with enough strength to knock her head about.

"And bring him to me alive. A hostage might be useful. This slave should live too. Revenge or not, anybeast who spills their blood will eat own paws, have my word on that."

"Ohoho! Aren't you in kind and gentle mood today, chief?" chuckled Suran, who, like everybeast around, watched Marroch now.

Marroch ignored the bait, and turned to Ilmo: "As we agreed, all woodlander slaves are yours to free. But we'll hold those two, or do you have objections?"

As Ilmo pondered on the answer, Torbit, who stood next to his chieftain, had a piece of his mind to give: "So ye'll have yer way with them later, nice and slow, as yer sort say?"

Marroch made a helpless gesture. "Don't hold me for a fool who gets entertainment out of pain of others. Ask any creature who knows me – I'm a pragmatic beast. Besides, what do you want to do, give them shelter?"

"I'd let 'em go!" blurted out Torbit, slamming the butt of his spear on the floor to underline the words. "Real warriors should be sparin' defenseless creatures, not enslavin' 'em!"

Marroch looked at him, and explained slowly, as if talking to a particularly dim-witted creature. "Then, if they are lucky, one of the remaining captains will use the whelp as a talisman. A father's good luck can pass down to a son, you should know. Much more likely, Kopek or said captains will quietly kill them. No one needs future contenders."

Before Torbit – or Ilmo, or Ewalt – answered that, a sharp sound rent the air. The sound familiar to Marroch, that of small iron bugle he gave to Luggun this evening, when assigning him to taking the gates and keeping lookout there. And now somebeast at the gates was blowing in it. Once. Then again, and again.

"What's going on?.." muttered one of the vermin who held Marda, looking around fearfully.

Unlike him, Marroch already could guess an answer. Or at least had enough resolve to admit it. Somehow, his plan was going wrong.

"To the walls!" he shouted. "Move your paws! To the walls, everybeast!"

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**_Author's notes:_** One thing that I specifically wanted to avoid when setting to write a story with several vermin in protagonist roles, is writing them as good at heart (never mind completely good) from the very beginning. I also wanted the first villain to be somewhat of a classic Redwallian Big Bad, but actually formidable enough to not make people wonder, how he even lived until the story's beginning. Hopefully, I succeeded in those goals.

I'll probably take a longer break from posting chapters right after this one as what I thought to be a straightforward part full of fighting is turning out to be a rather complicated thing. So I want to write down the rest of Part 1, or at least 4-5 chapters ahead, before committing anything more to the site.


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